


The Radio Who Laughs

by LaVidaMochaIV



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Asexual Relationship, Romantic Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:55:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 22,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23245117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaVidaMochaIV/pseuds/LaVidaMochaIV
Summary: The MurderPonies are doing fairly well performing at clubs like the Red Death, but when Alastor the Radio Demon catches their show he cooks up other plans for them. Especially for Odile, the band's lead singer…
Comments: 12
Kudos: 13





	1. Konya wa Hurricane

The Red Death was a little more than half-packed, which, as far as Ellie the hellhound bartender was concerned, was a really good night for the club. Seemed that this new rock band drew more of a crowd than her boss gave them credit for.

The MurderPonies had an interesting assortment of demonic musicians. A partially mechanical teenager on bass or keyboard (depending on the song), a punk red-haired hellhound in literal stitches on drums, green skeleton on lead guitar, and a black swan demon on lead vocals.

Most of the patrons came to the Red Death to get drunk off their asses and maybe get laid, but a surprising amount of them were actually sticking around for the music. To top it off, none of them were starting a drunken brawl or even shouting lewd remarks at the bandmates. Maybe they were staved off because the mechanized girl wasn’t even in her twenties, as a surprising amount of Hell’s denizens had more class than that. Maybe it was because anyone who messed with a hellhound drummer or her friends would likely find their entrails splattered on the ground.

Or maybe it was because the entertainment for the night was just that good for once. The Red Death didn’t normally get any real talent to perform for the club. Even Ellie couldn’t help but enjoy the music as she kept nodding to the rhythm and finding herself dancing as she took drink orders.

Meanwhile, for several glorious minutes the band’s lead singer Odile felt like a queen. For once _she_ was in control. She didn’t have to adhere to anyone else’s standards of how she presented herself. Not the slut-shaming mortal world, nor the indulgence-crazed Hell. Just her own, and she was proud.

It seemed this evening it had become most appropriate that the club was called “the Red Death”, because an unusually well-dressed demon clad in crimson and black stepped in.

At first no one noticed his presence, but then Ellie spotted him and nearly dropped a glass, surprised at how ostentatious his outfit was. Most patrons of the Red Death were Goths and punks with their baggy torn shirts and fishnets worn like sleeves. Even Ellie, who looked like a hold-over from the nineteen-seventies with her long wavy blackish-red hair and vaguely disco outfit, was dressed in all black.

The crimson demon stood by the bar, so she decided to have some fun with him.

“So where is it?” Ellie joked with a playful grin.

The crimson demon raised an eyebrow, his own grin not even making a twitch. “I beg your pardon?”

“Your copy of ‘Don Juan Triumphant.’ Aren’t you gonna demand the band play it for you?” Ellie teased.

“No, I don’t believe I have such a manuscript…” Apparently he thought she was being serious.

“Are you kidding me?” She leaned on the bar and explained, “Dude, you look like the Red Death, in a place called the Red Death, looking pretty overdressed compared to everybody else here.”

“Ah! ‘Red Death!’ An Edgar Allen Poe reference!” The crimson demon laughed. “Most amusing!”

Ellie rolled her eyes. He was no fun; he didn’t even get her _Phantom of the Opera_ joke. Judging from his transatlantic accent he must have been from the nineteen-twenties or thirties, so of course he was a total square. She resumed cleaning and putting away glasses.

No, the crimson demon wasn’t here to have the band play an original piece. He had heard through reputation that the Red Death was another dive where drunken fistfights were a nightly event, to the point where they had to hire a hellhound as a bartender to break things up in between drink orders. However as of late there had been less brawls than usual. Not since the MurderPonies started playing there.

He eyed the dark-haired lead vocalist. He had other plans in mind.


	2. Electric Chair

The bandmates set their instruments down as the mechanized fox demon Ronnie switched their amplifiers off. This was only the first set for the night, and the club’s DJ took over the music duties while the MurderPonies took an hour-long break.

The rag doll hellhound Annie Stitch set her drumsticks down and was immediately fixated on her smartphone. The green skeletal demon Quetzalcoatl patted Odile on the shoulder with a smile, his long feathered tail trailing behind him as he walked off the stage to get a beer from the cooler out in their van.

For now Odile was alone. She may have felt like she had all the power when she sang, but as soon as the music ended it was like she reverted back to her old self. Shy, and feeling smaller than she was.

Odile was once a Korean-American ballet dancer named May Lin. Since she arrived in Hell, courtesy of an icy bridge when she was driving home one unfortunate evening, she hadn’t been able to find work as a dancer that didn’t involve stripping. Thankfully she didn’t have to resort to that before she met Quetzalcoatl, or just “Quetzal” to his friends.

Along with Ronnie the Fox, they had been friends and roommates for a while before Quetzal was ready to start the band. After Annie joined he offered to let Odile audition really just for the hell of it, but she wound up blowing the other candidates out of the water, hitting that perfect balance of beautiful and robust vocals.

It wasn’t dancing, but it was still a lot of fun. The MurderPonies had become a new family to Odile.

She made her way across the dance floor, shrinking as she weaved between the other club patrons in hopes that she wouldn’t bother them, or rather that they wouldn’t bother her. She took a seat at the bar, which was secluded for now, and she adjusted the swan pendant pinned to the front of her magenta shoulder-hugging blouse.

Ellie finished putting clean glasses away and asked with a smile, “What’ll you be having, superstar?”

“Just a water will be fine,” Odile requested a small voice.

In spite of having met before, it always baffled Ellie just how meek Odile really was when she wasn’t performing. Ellie got her her water in a tall glass, understanding that she wanted to keep hydrated for the next set.

Odile took a couple swigs, her throat relieved.

“You put on a fine show up there,” a voice filtered through a radio speaker complimented.

Odile looked to her right. Leaning against the bar was a tall fellow clad only in red with a Cheshire Cat grin on his face. His attire was weirdly formal to be in a club like this, and he looked awfully classy compared to the usual rando trying to hit on her.

“Um…” Odile nervously cleared her throat. “Thank you…” She didn’t normally get positive feedback from audience members like that. Normally they just went about their business once the band stopped playing, usually to go get liquored up and fool around in one of the bathroom stalls.

“May I buy you a drink…?” he offered.

Odile instinctively put her palm over her glass and pulled it closer like a dragon hoarding its gold. She didn’t care if it made her look “rude” or “unfriendly”.

“No, thank you. This will do just fine.”

“Understood.” He cleared his own throat as if to disperse the tension. “My apologies. I don’t mean to put you in an uncomfortable position, Miss… um…”

“Odile,” she answered, still keeping an air of caution.

“Odile. What a fine name.” He held out his hand. “The name’s Alastor…” 

Odile shook his hand, surprised at how firm yet gentle his grip was.

“… and might I say you gave a fantastic performance up there,” Alastor continued. He adjusted the red-tinted monocle over his right eye and inquired, “By any chance are you the band’s songwriter?”

Odile shook her head. “No.”

“I see. Well, nonetheless your very energy was near-palpable.”

“Um… thank you?” That was a good thing, right?

Alastor could read her confusion. “What I mean to say, my dear, is you seemed to have a sort of energy that wasn’t just in your voice. You wanted to dance up there, too, didn’t you?”

Odile’s eyes widened. “How did you know?”

“Well, it seemed quite obvious to me. You wanted to dance, but you were hindered by that standing microphone, and what’s more that stage does not allow you much in mobility,” he added pointing to the stage. He had a point. There was barely enough room for the bandmates and their instruments. “By any chance, are you a trained dancer?”

“Yes…” How did he keep detecting these things?

“But you also enjoy singing, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me, my dear, would you like to be able to do both?”

Odile was about to confirm his statement again, but she leaned back in suspicion. “What’s all this about? What do you want?”

“Why, my dear…” He snapped his finger and a staff resembling an old-fashioned radio microphone materialized in his hand. “… I am a Radio Demon by trade. I can provide for both you and the MurderPonies access to the kind of tools you need to give the performances you have always wanted to give. Might I have a word with your bandmates later…?”

_The Radio Demon…_ There was something in Odile’s mind that almost clicked into place and tried to act as a warning, but unfortunately she couldn’t remember what it was.

Odile thought about it. As long she and the band were in agreement… “All right.”

“Wonderful!” Alastor declared as his shoulders perked up along with his smile. “Well, Odile, if you’ve no interest in a drink, then would you at least care to dance?”

Odile was speechless. She couldn’t remember a time when _anyone_ asked her to dance. Not in life or after death. She found herself eagerly finishing her water first, briefly regretting it when she was hit with brain-freeze. “Oh! Sonofabitch!!”

Alastor stifled a giggle. So adorable. 

He took his staff and tucked it into a seemingly endless pocket inside his coat. He held out his hand and suggested, “Come, my dear… Care to give me a demonstration of what you can do…?”

Odile’s heart skipped a beat. She took his hand and he escorted her to the dance floor.


	3. Kick It Up A Notch

The night was reaching its end, Ellie herded out the last of the rowdy and drunken patrons like they were sheep, and the MurderPonies were closing up shop.

Ronnie the mechanized fox demon had turned off the electronic equipment and was unplugging everything so it could be put away in their van.

Ronnie was a nineteen-year-old Honduran-American, and in addition to being the band’s bassist and keyboard player she also acted as their engineer. Her left arm was mechanized and her hand could turn into whatever power tool she needed, also helped by cybernetic eyes that could magnify or see distant objects with perfect clarity.

Annie Stitch, who was dismantling her drum set for the night, was a hellhound who lived up to her name, as she literally held herself together in stitches, looking like a werewolf equivalent to Frankenstein’s creation in a punk wardrobe.

Quetzalcoatl was still testing the strings on his guitar, as despite their successful performance he could’ve sworn it didn’t quite sound right, until Ronnie just came over and unplugged it from its amplifier. He gave her an annoyed look; he knew she just wanted to put everything away, but sometimes she could be so lacking in awareness.

Quetzalcoatl, or just Quetzal to his friends, was a skeletal Guatemalan-American demon whose bones shimmered with a luminescent green, matched only by his long tail feathers that flowed from beneath his black vest. He always wore that vest for their shows because on the back it was adorned in yellow, green and red rhinestones with the image of the Aztec feathered serpent god for whom he was named after.

Now that the show was over, and since Ronnie disconnected his guitar, he did a quick change into his more casual denim vest, which was getting tattered in places.

Odile finally caught up with them. Normally she’d be there helping putting things away like the rest of them.

She cleared her throat to get their attention. Annie and Quetzal paused but Ronnie just kept going. Annie had to hold her back by the shoulder to stop her from going out the back way again.

Odile held her chin high and Quetzal smirked. She looked like a college kid introducing her boyfriend to her family. So adorable.

“I’d like you all to meet…”

Alastor the Radio Demon stepped into the light, seemingly materializing from the shadows of the switched off house lights.

“Alastor, these are my bandmates, Ronnie, Annie and Quetzalcoatl,” Odile introduced, each of them raising their hand with their names.

“Greetings and salutations!” Alastor declared. “First of all I just want to say you all put on a fantastic show tonight. Certainly exceeded my expectations of a band playing at a venue such as this.”

“You kidding?” Ellie interjected as she passed by behind Alastor and Odile. She had finished wrangling the last of drunken stragglers, so she proceeded with putting chairs away. “The last guy we booked was some whiney acoustic guitar-playing loser whose songs were all about his high school girlfriend and how much she sucked for dumping him. And this guy was in his forties! I had to twist my boss’s arm to get some _real_ music in here.”

Annie gave a mischievous grin. “And it doesn’t hurt that Ellie’s my sister…”

Ellie gave her a knowing glance and she went back to putting chairs up on top of the tables.

Annie, Ellie and their eldest sibling Teri used to run a girl group rock band known as the Serberus Sisters. until they died in their van in a three-car pileup thanks to some jackass texting while driving. Because the sisters had been virtually inseparable in life they arrived in Hell as a three-headed hellhound sharing the same body. They didn’t mind at first, but then they agreed they wanted their own bodies so they were surgically separated. Annie and Teri were given rag doll bodies, while they each got to keep an arm and a shoulder. Meanwhile Ellie had two working prosthetic arms made out of steel, which made her occasional bouncer duties at the Red Death that much easier.

“Ah, nepotism,” Alastor declared with delight. “Where would Lady Opportunity be without it?”

Quetzal, leaning back in his chair, raised his eyebrow at this guy’s fashion sense. “Not bad for a Stage Door Johnny…”

“Oh, they still use that phrase?” Alastor asked almost eagerly.

“No, but _I_ do…” Quetzal flirted, leaning forward with his elbow on his knee.

Annie chuckled as she rolled her eyes. While he’d never steal anyone’s boyfriend, Quetzal just couldn’t resist a pretty face, whether it belonged to a man or a woman. Annie pulled him back by his vest collar and joked, “Down, boy!”

Alastor glanced to his right and was suddenly met by Ronnie, who had snuck up on him and vigorously sniffed at his coat from the hem of his sleeve to his shoulder. “Did you just come in from a brawl or something?” she questioned in a matter-of-fact tone.

“No, not recently,” Alastor responded, trying not to be put off by her forwardness.

“You smell really bloody.”

“Oh, really?” Alastor took a quick sniff at his left sleeve and confirmed, “Good heavens, me! I could’ve sworn I had this dry-cleaned…”

With that, the flirtatious smirk on Quetzal’s face dissolved, his eyes widening with sudden alarm.

“I do apologize if I come off as rudely unkempt…” said Alastor.

Quetzal got up and quickly took Ronnie by the shoulders. “No, no, sir. It’s fine. I should apologize for Ronnie. She can be quite tactless sometimes.”

“Ah, it’s quite alright. Children can be so straightforward. I love that they don’t care for needless formalities…”

“I’m nineteen,” Ronnie corrected as Quetzal pulled her back, almost like he was pulling her away from the line of fire.

“Of course, I’ve already met Odile here and I know what she’s capable of” Alastor stated. “What about the rest of you?”

Quetzal stepped forward to make himself more present, but also in a stance like he was readying to fight if he needed to. “I’m Quetzalcoatl.”

“Ah, I take it you’re the bandleader,” Alastor correctly guessed. “You have that sort of… air abut you. Are you also the band’s songwriter?”

“On occasion,” Quetzal answered.

“Yeah, normally that would be me,” Annie interjected as she raised her hand, her drumsticks still in her fist. “Name’s Annie Stitch.”

“And then there’s Ronnie,” Alastor confirmed as he looked to where she stood, now having disappeared to resume loading up the van. “Ahem! Anyway, I was just discussing with your lovely vocalist about the many hinderances of performing at such a confining venue.”

“What’s he talking about?” Quetzal asked, looking in Odile’s direction.

“Always seemed fine to me,” Annie added.

Quetzal flashed an irritated scowl at Alastor, like he was about to personally give him the bum’s rush. “Look, just get to the point! What do you want, hat rack?”

“Very well.” Alastor tilted his chin down and his gaze sharpened, as if meeting Quetzal’s challenge. “I want to give your group access to my recording equipment. So that you may cut a record. Is that really so nefarious, my emerald friend?”

Quetzal took a step back. “What’s the catch?”

Even Annie could smell something fishy. “Yeah, no one just _gives_ access to their recording studio. Don’t we have to sign a contract? Or pay a fee?”

“Right you are!” Alastor confirmed. “We would both have to sign a contract and reach an agreement. However that can all be ironed out later.”

“What about our earnings in record sales?” Quetzal asked, as if grilling him. “How much of a cut would _you_ get if we signed on?”

Alastor chuckled. “My good sir, these are matters to worry about later,” he reinstated as he held Quetzal’s chin, as if he was the one flirting with him now. He patted his cheekbone and turned to the rest of the band. “Now I understand that this may be overwhelming and you must all be exhausted from tonight’s show. Might I suggest you get some rest and discuss it amongst yourselves. Until then…” He pulled out a business card from his coat’s breast pocket and handed it to Odile. “… here’s my card.” 

He waved goodbye with his fingertips and looking in her direction he said “Do give me a call…” Before she could reflect on whether or not he had just flirted with her, he seemingly vanished back into the shadows.

Odile took a good look at Alastor’s business card. It was blood red with an ornate black border, and in the center above his name and phone number was a symbol of a very reptilian eye.

Quetzal stood alert until he was certain Alastor was gone and no long within earshot. Allowing himself to relax, he looked at Odile and questioned, “Okay, what was all that he said about ‘hinderances?’”

Odile awkwardly glanced away. “Well…”

“Hey, if you’re not happy about how we do our shows, why didn’t you just talk to us?” Quetzal asked tilting his head.

“I’m more worried about how you were going all ‘guard dog’ on that guy,” remarked Annie. “What was all that about?”

“Do you know him?” Odile questioned. Maybe Quetzal had brought him up in conversation before and _that_ was why “the Radio Demon" sounded so familiar.

Quetzal gritted his teeth. “Sorta…” Ronnie had returned to fetch some more cables, but paused for now, aware that she should listen to him.

He glanced at his bandmates. “None of you have been in Hell for as long as I have…” He tried to remember what had happened, but he only gave a shudder. He didn’t know how to delicately put it into words. “Let’s just say I’ve heard his handiwork and it was _not_ pretty…”

Odile wanted to inquire further, however she also didn’t want to make her friend drudge up old, possibly traumatic memories. For now she, Annie, and Ronnie just let the matter go and took his word for it as they finished packing the van.


	4. Workin' At The Car Wash Blues

It had been a few days since the MurderPonies performed at the Red Death. Odile awoke with a sudden start and a troubling revelation about the new friend she had made that night.

She _knew_ she had heard the title of “the Radio Demon” before…

It had been said that in Hell he had destroyed several warlords, dictators and despots along with their followers. One wouldn’t think that was necessarily a bad thing, but he also took it upon himself to broadcast the sounds of his carnage and destruction to instill fear into those who would oppose him. It was said that it was more bloodcurdlingly horrifying than the Mercury Theater’s infamous presentation of _The War of the Worlds_.

This was long before Odile’s time, as she had arrived in Hell only little more than a decade ago. She had assumed that the Radio Demon was but an urban legend or had been destroyed in one of Hell’s annual exterminations. Apparently neither was the case as she still had his business card lying right there on her nightstand, its eye seemingly watching her in the dark. 

It was in the waking hours of the morning that Odile often received the most eye-opening of thoughts and memories, many of them upsetting. This was no exception to that. She sat up and flipped over the business card to make it stop staring at her. She glanced around and saw the closest approximation to Hell’s daylight peeking through the blackout curtains of her designated bedroom space in the loft she shared with Quetzal and Ronnie, parted only by floorboards and metal walls.

As she got out of bed she remembered Quetzal had come in pretty late last night, as she had heard him and his date stumbling and laughing in their failed attempt to sneak in. She and Ronnie must have been heavy sleepers, she thought, because it was astonishing that they were never bothered by Quetzal and his boyfriends’ lovemaking. Frankly, Quetzal made far more of a ruckus putting on one of his Jim Croce records.

As Odile changed out of her nightgown she heard their shared phone ring out in the living room and kitchen area. She decided she’d let their answering machine get it because she couldn’t imagine why anyone would be calling them at this hour, save for solicitors from the Immediate Murder Professionals again.

“Hey, uh, SlaughterPonies, or whatever…”

Odile recognized that gruff voice as DeMarco, Ellie’s boss and current manager of the Red Death. She opened her door a crack to listen to the message more clearly while she finished getting dressed.

“Yeah, it turns out we won’t be needing ya for tomorrow night’s show. Or ever. See, the club’s doin’ just fine right now, what with the lack of brawls, so we don’t really need any additional expenditures—I mean, uh, bells and whistles, if ya know what I mean. Look, no hard feelin’s, I’m just tryin’ ta make a profit here. And ya know the drill: ‘Don’t call us, we’ll call you.’ Good luck to ya an’ all that. Ciao!” The machine beeped.

Odile’s heart sank. “You’ve gotta be kidding…!”

Unsurprisingly, the sound of the machine awoke her roommates. In the bedroom space next to hers she could hear Ronnie moaning in that way expected from a teenager who doesn’t want to get out of bed yet. Below her she heard Quetzal getting up. Once Odile was fully-dressed she walked down the wooden stairs and heard him grumble as he opened his bedroom door, clad in only a pair of faded, torn jeans.

“Uh, you know what that was all about…?” he groaned.

Odile walked over to the island of a kitchen counter where the answering machine was and pressed a button to get the damn thing to at least stop beeping without deleting the message yet. 

“Just the boss being a dick,” she stated with a scowl. “Apparently we’re out of a gig now.”

“Oh, shit…” Quetzal grumbled as he put his palm across his face, his eyes glowering between his fingers.

“Uh, is everything okay, babe…?” a half-asleep voice called out from behind him. They had apparently woken up his date.

“Oh, don’t worry about it, hon,” Quetzal reassured. “Just some business crap. You can go back to sleep.”

His date turned back over on his side and resumed his light snoring.

Quetzal shut the door behind him and cursed under his breath. “Now what are we gonna do…?”

Odile went ahead and put on a pot of coffee for him. “Well, I was gonna go over to Warwick’s anyway. Maybe I can ask Teri if she knows any other good clubs?”

“Eh, it’s worth a shot, I guess…” Quetzal trudged over and sat on one of the kitchen stools, running his hair through his fingers in frustration.

“We’ll figure something out,” Odile reassured as she slipped on her rose-colored jacket.

“Yeah, I know…” 

Odile was almost out the door when Quetzal joked, “Hey, did you ever find out if Warwick Wilson actually _owns_ that place?”

Odile chuckled. “I dunno. I’ll have to ask Teri.”

* * *

Warwick’s was a small cafe that was about a twenty-minute walk away from their loft, but their espresso was well worth it even by Hell’s standards. Odile liked hitting it up about once a week, usually on a Saturday. It also had the advantage that Annie’s eldest sister Teri worked there. Not only did she know what Odile liked, but she was also a delight to chat with over a breakfast sandwich.

Teri was probably the most chill of the Serberus Sisters. While her younger siblings favored more Goth and punk attire, Teri was more of a grunge girl with her flannel shirts and army jackets.

Odile always recognized it by the decorative tile work in front of the door that read “Warwick”. It was kind of a shared joke between her and Quetzal that Warwick’s only had that name because the building must have belonged to the notorious serial killer Warwick Wilson.

She opened the door and stepped inside. As expected Teri was at the counter, her long, straight blonde hair tied back and a plaid shirt underneath her barista’s apron, but this time she was engaging with a customer who was dressed in red and eagerly leaning on the counter in conversation.

“Alastor?!” Odile cried in surprise.

Alastor’s ear tufts twitched and his face lit up upon seeing her. “Odile! What a pleasant surprise!”

“Oh, you guys know each other?” Teri remarked.

“Why, yes!” Alastor confirmed. “We met after I caught the band’s show at the Red Death the other night!”

“Oh, neat!” Teri declared. “You got your first Number One fan here!”

_That’s what I’m afraid of…_ thought Odile, putting on a polite smile.

She cleared her throat and approached him. “Well, if you’re here about the offer, the band currently is not interested in your services,” she stated clearly and concisely.

“Ho, ho, my dear!” Alastor laughed as he took off his trench coat, unveiling his surprisingly casual dress with his slacks and turtleneck sweater. He still wore his red-tinted monocle, though. “I assure you I am not here on business. I just saw Teri through the window and mistook her for Ellie.”

“Yeah!” Teri laughed. She lifted her right arm by pinching her polyester wrist and added, “Apparently my floppy arm wasn’t a dead giveaway with this guy!” A strand of blonde hair fell in front of her face and she blew it out of the way. “I was just telling him about the time I stole Annie’s bike to go to a house party but took a spill because it was too small for me.”

Odile looked over Alastor’s attire again. He certainly _appeared_ more casual than he did the other night. She lowered her defenses for the time being.

Alastor chuckled and suggested, “Given the change of locale, may I buy you a drink _now_?”

Odile hesitated. “Alright,” she agreed as she eyed him with suspicion. She looked over at Teri and ordered, “The usual. Decaf mocha for me.”

“You got it!” Teri gave her a thumbs-up.

Odile took a seat at a booth next to a window, as if to make sure she was seen in case something were to happen.

She thought back to what she remembered as she was waking up that morning. If the tales about him were real, she couldn’t understand why he would want to engage in a business venture with a small band like the MurderPonies. Hell, it was hard to believe he was right there simply ordering tea like anyone else.

Alastor brought both of their beverages over and sat across from her, setting his coat next to him.

He was still smiling. Odile must have been really out of it the other night because she was only now realizing how unsettling that was.

Odile took the lid off and inspected her coffee. Not that she suspected it of being tampered with; more that with Teri being a rag doll she wanted to be certain that a cotton-stuffed thumb didn’t fall in. (Apparently it had happened before.)

As they got settled in, Odile sheepishly removed her jacket. Compared to what he saw her wearing the other night, she felt so frumpy. With her rose jacket, her own black turtleneck, skirt and leggings, she looked like a Pink Lady on her way to a poetry slam.

Alastor tore the wrapping from his ginger peach tea bag and asked, “So, how fares the band?”

“Oh, we’re… doing okay.” Odile took a wooden stirrer and swirled her mocha around a little. Didn’t want all the chocolate to sink to the bottom.

As Alastor dunked the bag into his hot water he questioned, “You sound doubtful, my dear. Matters not going so well?”

“No, we’re just on a brief hiatus. That’s all.”

Alastor leaned forward, his elbows on the table and his chin resting on his interwoven knuckles, eager to hear more on the matter.

Odile rolled her eyes and conceded. “Apparently the guy who runs the Red Death—”

“Oh, please tell me his name is Prince Prospero…” Alastor smirked.

Odile laughed. “Yeah, actually it’s DeMarco… Anyway, he decided that because there was less brawling at the club he’s turning in a profit, so he’s cutting back on ‘unnecessary’ entertainment for the time being.”

“Oh, dear, that’s a shame. I’m sorry to hear that.” Odile took her first sip of her coffee as he remarked, “However, not as sorry as _he_ is going to be when the brawls resume in your absence…”

Odile gulped. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, come now, my dear. It may not be obvious to a cretin lacking in taste such as he, but it was _most_ obvious to me. You’re a Siren.”

Odile slowly leaned back. She hoped he was just flirting with her.

“You were using your voice to manipulate the audience into listening to your song.”

Odile was alarmed and speechless. “How did you know?”

Alastor lightly chuckled. “Oh, my dear…” He pointed to his ear tufts. “I have a knack for picking up these kinds of frequencies…”

Made sense for a Radio Demon. Odile then stifled back a laugh. “So, what, do your antlers act as antennae?” she joked.

Alastor laughed.

“Is that how you caught our show the other night?” Odile added with an awkward smile.

“Ha ha ha! No.” Alastor decided that his teabag steeped for long enough, so he wrung it out with his fingertips, even if it was still scalding hot. He set it on the saucer and added, “I meant what I said the other night that I followed the band’s reputation for minimizing the drunken brawls taking place there.” He added a dollop of cream to his tea and asked, “Do your bandmates know about this? Your Siren Song?”

“Actually, yeah,” Odile answered. “We kind of agreed that we _didn’t_ want to get caught in a riot if we were going to go public.” She shrugged as she pointed out, “I mean, I know it’s pretty common for a concert to turn into a riot down here, but who really wants to clean up the mess?”

Alastor raised his eyebrows. “I wouldn’t mind.” He looked like he was about to start licking his chops at the thought.

Odile quickly remembered who she was talking to. “Oh, right.”

“But nonetheless, my dear. It’s incredible what you have!” Alastor’s ears perked up as he leaned forward, resting his chin in his hands. “Please, do tell…”

“I… I’d rather not get into that right now…” Odile protested as she retreated back in her seat.

“Oh…” Alastor’s own grin shrank in size. “Forgive me, my dear. I didn’t realize this was a sensitive topic for you.”

“Yeah, now’s just not a good time…”

He took a sip of his tea. Strong and scalding hot, just the way he liked it. “Well, what I wanted to ask you relates to what we were discussing the other night. You enjoy singing, correct?”

Odile nodded.

“But you enjoy dancing even more.”

“Yeah.”

“If that’s the kind of power and influence you have with your voice alone, what do you suppose you’d be capable of if you channeled it into your dancing?”

Odile had never considered that before.

She set her coffee down for the moment and something caught her eye. Over on the bulletin board next to the counter was a vibrant art deco-style poster with the announcement, “Vera the Volatile: LIVE in Concert”.

Alastor paused. “You seem a tad distracted, Odile…” 

She snapped herself out of it. “Oh, I’m sorry!”

He turned his head to see what she was so focused on and he saw the garish poster amongst fliers for strip club gigs and “Will work for booze” notices crudely written in half-faded marker.

“Ah. Are you a fan of Vera’s?” Alastor inquired as he turned towards Odile again.

“No. It’s just that… I used to know someone named Vera. I was wondering if it might be the same one.”

“Hmm… Very well could be. Also, if you don’t mind me saying, you seem a lot more… reserved this morning, my dear.”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean your wardrobe. The other night you looked like you were ready for a night on the town.”

“Look who’s talking,” Odile teased. She found it amusing that both she and Alastor’s idea of casual wear included turtlenecks, like they were both trying to cover up recent vampire bites or the like.

“Heh, heh. Fair point. So do you only dress up for a performance?”

Odile shrank back in her seat again and reached for her coffee once more. “More or less… I mean, how do I know that the guys in the audience are there to see me perform, or if I’m just a piece of meat to them? At least during a show with the MurderPonies I can wear what I want and my Siren Song keeps them from bothering me.”

Alastor’s smile shrank back down again. “Heavens! Was that… _always_ a problem?”

“No…” She almost wanted to hide herself in her sweater some more. “I don’t mean like they ever harassed me or anything like that! More like I don’t like them looking at me for reasons I don’t like…”

Alastor’s ear tufts folded back. “Hmm…” He held his mug close as he also leaned back. “Well, in any case I really liked that little number you wore the other night. Quite fetching. And frankly you look just as marvelous as you do now.”

Odile gave a small, bashful smile. “Thank you.”

“And if the MurderPonies are in a tight spot, remember my offer still stands. What’s more, I could assist in putting something together that utilizes your voice _and_ your dancing capabilities. I could get you a spot on the picture show!”

Odile took another sip. Maybe she _will_ talk it over with the band. A music video would make for good advertisement and give her the chance to dance again.

For now she was just enjoying Alastor’s company. She would never have expected to feel comfortable in the presence of the fabled Radio Demon.


	5. Meet The King

Upon her return, Odile unlocked the loft door and literally bumped into someone’s fluffy chest. After spitting a couple feathers out of her mouth she saw that it was Quetzal’s date from the previous night. A real himbo of a scarlet macaw demon who still hadn’t gotten his shirt on yet.

“Whoa! Sorry, man!” he apologized in a raspy voice. Either he wasn’t fully awake, he was stoned, or a little hungover.

Quetzal was sitting in the kitchen over a plate of bacon and eggs, now in his plum-colored robe in addition to his pants. The macaw got his shirt back on while Odile politely held the big metal door open for him.

“Hey, I’ll call you later, babe!” he called over to Quetzal as he stumbled out into the hall, confirming that he was still drunk from partying the previous night.

Queztzal blew him a kiss as Odile shut the door.

She took a seat next to him on one of the stools as he shook his head. “He ain’t gonna call back…” 

Odile was about to question why and he pointed at the abundance of bacon and eggs still in the pan. 

“When they don’t stick around for breakfast, they don’t call back.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Eh, whatever,” he replied with a shrug. Quetzal enjoyed playing the field. “Help yourself, if you want.”

“Thanks.”

Odile took a small plate’s worth of eggs and returned to her seat.

“So did you go to Warwick’s?” Quetzal guessed.

“Yep.”

“How’s Teri? What did she say?”

“Oh, shoot! I forgot!” Odile agonized. “I was supposed to ask her about gigs!”

“Hey, hey!” Quetzal patted her on the back. “Don’t worry about it. We can ask her later. Or we can get Annie to ask her.”

Odile calmed down. “True. True…”

She still was stuck in the habit of needlessly chastising herself for minor mistakes. As she ate her eggs she kept it to herself how embarrassed she was that she got distracted by Alastor and flaked out about asking Teri for help. She knew that if she mentioned the Radio Demon Quetzal would probably flip out, and now was not the time for that since Annie was supposed to arrive at any moment for a band meeting.

She and Quetzal finished their breakfast and put the leftovers away in the fridge as Ronnie finally came out of her room and took a seat on the top of the stairs. Unlike Quetzal she bothered to throw on a T-shirt and some cargo pants.

Annie always gave a signature knock when she showed up for a meeting.

“It’s open!” Quetzal loudly affirmed.

Annie walked inside, a perturbed look on her face. She dropped her shoulder bag full of notebooks on the sofa and said, “I heard the bad news. Ellie told me DeMarco’s being a real tightwad and he doesn’t want us.”

“Aw, boooo!!” Ronnie declared from above with a pout.

“Yep. So it looks like we’re gonna have to start looking for work again…” She inspected her arm and the seams were coming apart. Apparently throwing her shoulder bag like that caused her stitches to give out again and her cotton stuffing was seemingly trying to make an escape through her elbow. “Aw, crap… Hey, Odile, you got—?”

“Same place as always,” Odile answered as she rinsed off the dishes.

“Thanks.” Annie went into their coat closet and from the shelf retrieved Odile’s sewing kit.

She took a seat in the big faded blue chair and got to work on repairs while Ronnie came downstairs. Out of boredom the mechanical fox demon sat down on the couch and started reading through Annie’s notebooks full of song ideas. Originally they had planned to do song collaborations for the day, however now the band had more important issues to deal with. Namely finding another job.

“Oh, I meant to ask Teri this morning!” Odile remembered as she returned to her seat next to Quetzal. “Does she know of any clubs or bars that could use a band?”

“No, I asked her that when she got back from her shift at Warwick’s. Ellie’s offered to ask around but Lilith knows when we’re pointed in the right direction…” Annie’s face lit up as she paused from her sewing. “Oh, by the way. Teri said that Alastor popped by this morning and you two really hit it off!” Both Odile and Quetzal flinched, but Annie just winked at her. “Congrats!”

“Wait! He what?!” Quetzal clarified. He looked over at Odile. “And you weren’t gonna tell us this?!”

“That’s not true. I was gonna tell you… eventually. I didn’t think it was that important.”

“‘Not important?!’ A coffee date with the Radio Demon?! Are you nuts?! I was _there_ for his radio broadcasts, and even I still don’t know what he’s capable of!”

“Be that as it may, Quetzal, thus far he’s the only guy in Hell who wanted to spend time with me without making a lewd remark or ‘complimenting’ my ass.”

“Hmm… Fine, I’ll give him that…” He rolled his eyes; it’s sad that straight guys in Hell had so little class they made someone like the Radio Demon look princely.

“That said, I think he really does… like me,” Odile admitted.

Quetzal chuckled. “Yeah, maybe for dinner…” He then realized she was being serious. His jaw dropped and needed to reattach it before talking further. “Wait, you mean, _like_ -likes you?”

“Yeah. Whether it’s just platonic or otherwise… Maybe it’d be a good idea for me to… keep an eye on him? See what he wants with us?” Odile nervously proposed.

“Well, now that you mention it— Wait.” Quetzal’s eyes narrowed. “You sure you’re talking about _him_?”

“What do you mean?”

“ _You’re_ the one who like-likes him, don’t you?”

“What?!” Odile squeaked. “No! No, I—”

Quetzal crossed his arms. He wasn’t buying it.

Odile’s shoulders drooped with an embarrassed sigh. He got her there.

Meanwhile, Ronnie was intensely leaning forward over the back of the couch while Annie stuck the needle in her forearm in a pause. The both of them were enjoying the show.

“Oh, this is precious!” Annie remarked.

Quetzal rubbed at his forehead in frustration. “Look, I’m not gonna tell you who you should and shouldn’t date, especially given the options around here…”

“Is he a trust-fund shit-lord who cheats at sporting events and brags about his wealth and his stupid fraternity?” Annie interjected with a knowing smirk.

“No,” Odile replied with slight confusion. That was weirdly specific.

Annie glanced over at Quetzal. “Sounds fine to me. Leagues better than _my_ ex,” she stated as she resumed repairing her forearm.

Quetzal gritted his teeth. “You’re not helping, Annie!”

Annie gave Quetzal another knowing glance. “Dude, trust me. Straight dudes can be a very _special_ breed of garbage.” She briefly glanced at Odile and advised, “Just as long as he doesn’t give you the ‘Not-Like-Other-Girls’ speech. Or tries to compliment you by calling you a ‘Cool Girl’. _That’s_ how you know he’s untrustworthy scum!”

Odile gave her a puzzled look.

“Trust me on this,” Annie further explained. “Not only does it imply general misogyny on his part, or that he’s too shallow to realize you’re _already_ cool, but he also expects you to be _his_ idea of the Perfect Girlfriend. The second that illusion is unraveled, so does he and you find out just how selfish he really is.” Apparently, Annie had _so_ been there.

Odile scoffed. “Sweetie, you’re preaching to the choir on that last part…” Odile turned over to Quetzal and guided him over to his bedroom, shutting the door so they could talk in relative privacy. 

“Look, Alejandro…” Odile never referred to him by his real name unless she really wanted to get through to him. “… I know you just want me to be safe. And I get it. I really do. And it’s really sweet of you. The Radio Demon is not your average ‘bad boy’. He’s not merely a James Dean type…”

Quetzal smiled. She knew him so well; _Rebel Without A Cause_ was one of his favorites.

“But, like we were both just saying, we _are_ in Hell,” Odile reminded. “The odds of _not_ running into a bloodthirsty megalomaniac are pretty slim. Not to mention just someone who’s friendly without being gross.”

Quetzal nodded in agreement.

“Besides…” Odile looked him dead in the eye. “You and I both know why I got sent to Hell…”

Quetzal’s gaze lowered to the floor in a sullen manner. “Yeah, I know…”

“I’ve already been through a personal Hell. You think I’d wanna put myself through that again?”

“Yeah, but Alastor could be lying, too!” Quetzal pointed out.

But Odile’s eyes didn’t change. They still begged him to trust her.

He let out a relinquished sigh. “All right.” He gave her a strong hug. “Just be careful, okay?”

“Thank you.”

Quetzal paused. “You still got Alastor’s number…?”

Without answering, Odile left his room and went up to hers.

Quetzal stepped back out into the living room area as Annie finished repairing the seams on her arm

After tying off the thread she set the needle back in its place in the sewing kit and asked, “By the way, Quetzal, you never said how _you_ got sent to Hell.” Since she was closest to the door she couldn’t help but overhear that part.

Before he could answer that Ronnie attentively turned in her direction and blurted out, “He did a lot of odd jobs for the mob back in the thirties and forties!”

Quetzal furrowed his brows. “Ronnie…!”

“Holy shit! Really?” Annie was eager to hear more.

“Yeah,” Quetzal begrudgingly admitted. “Me and my boyfriend.” He leaned against his bedroom doorframe and scoffed. “Apparently, my personal creed about not harming innocent bystanders didn’t spare me the damnation. Go figure.”

“What was your boyfriend’s name again?” Ronnie asked. “‘Anthony… something?’”

“Please, don’t remind me of that bum!” Quetzal requested in an irritated tone. He didn’t mind reminiscing about his life as Alejandro Velasquez, but not of his self-centered hedonistic ex who never came home after that one night of partying.

Up in her bedroom Odile quickly found Alastor’s business card lying facedown on her nightstand where she left it. When she picked it up she felt her heart tremble at the sight of that big red eye staring at her.

She came back down and picked up the phone. As she dialed the number written on the card the other band members quietly gathered around her, ready to back her up in case things got hairy.

It rang only once. “Greetings, my friend! You have reached Alastor. How may I help you?”

Odile took a deep breath. “Hello, Alastor? This is Odile.”

“Odile! What a pleasure it is to hear from you again already!”

“Yes. Anyway, the MurderPonies and I have talked it over…”

Quetzal gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

“… we’d like your help…”


	6. I Want To Be Evil

Eager to sign the MurderPonies up and start recording soon, Alastor invited the band to his studio setup in a dilapidated radio station on the outskirts of Pentagram City.

While he hadn’t needed to use a firearm in a while, Quetzal made sure to pack his .48 caliber revolver Eartha. He kept her safely in her holster tucked under his sports coat, in case Alastor tried to pull something on them. He couldn’t imagine _surviving_ an encounter with the Radio Demon, but he’d be double-damned if he was going to go down without a fight.

The station KBIH (or Burn In Hell, as it was called when it was in commission) had fallen into disrepair yet it was still standing and in working condition. The walls were stained and wallpaper was peeling, but beyond the glass the recording booth was surprisingly pristine.

There was a dank smell to the place that irritated Ronnie’s nose and almost made her gag.

“Ugh! I bet that Alastor guy lives here!” she proclaimed. “It smells just like his jacket!”

The door to the manager’s office opened and the Radio Demon was there to greet them, briefly sucking his left index fingertip as if he had pricked himself.

“Ah! You’re here!” He glanced at his copper watch before returning it to his left breast pocket. “Pardon the delay. I was just making some adjustments to the contract…” He opened the door wider for them and beckoned them inside.

Ronnie and Annie chose to wait out in the reception area. They trusted their bandleaders to make the right judgement call in the negotiations. Quetzal kept his eye squarely on Alastor and didn’t turn his back to him as he and Odile cautiously stepped inside.

Unfurled on his desk and held in place by a dry inkwell and quill pen was a long yellow parchment with all the details and stipulations written out by hand in impressively nice-looking calligraphy, looking less like it was written in ink and more like dried blood.

“I see you have it ready to go…” Quetzal remarked with an air of resentment.

“Of course,” Alastor affirmed, “Feel free to—”

Quetzal didn’t hesitate and hunched over the parchment like it was a feral creature he was trying to keep pinned down.

“—look it over.”

Quetzal meticulously scanned over the details of the contract while Odile looked over his shoulder.

“Ah!” Quetzal tapped his finger below a select statement. “Right here! I knew it! He’s trying to pull a fast one on us!”

“What?” Alastor protested. “That’s absurd!”

“You can’t fool me, pal! You were trying to sneak in an ‘ownership of souls’ clause in here!” He read aloud, “‘ _In exchange for use of the party of the first part’s utilities and equipment, the party of the second part must pay the basic fee of their immortal souls.’_ ”

Odile folded her arms across her chest, glaring at Alastor.

“Oh, come now!” Alastor protested. “That’s a standard practice in Hell.”

“Yeah? Well, we don’t do that!” Quetzal argued.

“Agreed,” Odile agreed. “Either take it out, or no deal.”

“Very well.” Alastor begrudgingly retrieved from inside his coat a fountain pen with a sharp point and crossed out the statement in question. The fresh pen marks briefly ignited into small flames and after they went out there was only a blank space where the stipulation used to be.

“What say you to the notion that I instead act as the band’s manager?” Alastor suggested.

Quetzal flinched.

“… And that the band may withdraw from this agreement if you are at all unhappy with my services,” Alastor continued. “However you all have to unanimously agree to that. Is that fair?”

Quetzal bolted up straight. “Absolutely not! We came here to use your recording equipment and—”

“Now, hold on,” Odile interrupted. “Let’s talk it over.”

Quetzal glared at Alastor as he took Odile by the arm, bringing her back where Ronnie and Annie were waiting.

After shutting the door Quetzal gave them a brief rundown of what Alastor was offering.

“Manager?” Ronnie shrugged. “Sounds fine to me!”

“Yeah, as long as we don’t owe him our souls,” Annie agreed.

“You can’t be serious!” Quetzal protested. “Letting him be our manager?!”

“Hey, maybe we could use one,” Annie pointed out. “We could use someone to help find gigs for us.”

“And he did say we could back out any time that we want,” Odile reminded.

“But that’s not the issue,” Quetzal added. “We don’t need a manager, and especially not him!”

“But maybe we do,” Odile protested.

“Out of the question! I’m not about to let some manipulative piece of shit run the show again!”

Both Odile and Ronnie felt themselves relenting. They knew what this was about.

However, Annie didn’t. “‘Again’?”

Quetzal sighed. It was probably time someone told her. He looked over at the office door in hopes that Alastor wasn’t listening in on them and took a seat on top of the receptionist’s desk.

“When I was with my ex, I let him get away with… a lot. What jobs we took, when we’d get started or finished, even what drugs we did together. But… the truth was it was making me sick. Literally, and it wasn’t just the drugs. I’d say no to something and then he’d get all indignant like the brat he was. And he never wanted to actually talk about it; instead we’d just have make-up sex. And I didn’t know how to deal with it or get out of it, but then he walked out on me. I was… upset and angry for that, but also I had so much relief. I swore I’d never let anyone have that kind of power over me again. Not over me, not my career.”

“Well, in that case perhaps we can negotiate with him how much influence he would have over the band as our manager,” Odile suggested.

“No, Odile. You’re not getting it. It’s not _just_ letting him run the show. It’s because it’s him. I was there for his radio broadcasts, remember? And what’s more I think he might be aware of your feelings for him. I don’t want him to take advantage of that.”

At first Odile was hurt at the notion that she couldn’t separate her personal life with her professional life. However perhaps Quetzal had a point. Supposing Alastor _was_ a cad like Daniel Falstaff was, maybe it would have been best to leave her current career out of it this time.

She let out a somewhat defeated sigh.

The band returned to Alastor’s office and they found him patiently listening to a turntable with large, old-fashioned earphones, leaning back in his chair with his feet up on the desk.

He noticed their presence. “Ah! Have you come to an agreement?” he asked as he removed the headphones.

“We have,” Quetzal stated as he stood front-and-center, “and we’ve come to decline your offer as manager.”

“Oh…” Alastor’s smile shrank in disappointment, yet still remained on his face. “That’s a shame.” He stood back up. “Very well. No managerial position on my part. It shall be only what we previously discussed. That you may use my facilities and our professional relationship shall strictly remain as it is. Agreed?”

Quetzal looked over at his bandmates and they all lightly nodded.

He looked over at Alastor and said, “Agreed.”

“Very well.” Alastor retrieved the contract off the desk, rolled it back up and handed it to Quetzal. “Care to do the honors?”

Without hesitation Quetzal snatched the contract and tore it to shreds, the pieces bursting into flame as they hit the floor.

“I have to hand it to you, Quetzalcoatl,” Alastor added with a raised eyebrow. “You certainly drive a hard bargain.”

Quetzal only responded with a proud smirk. He knew how to look out for his family.

Odile thought this was probably for the best, but she kept thinking about how much more convenient it would be for the MurderPonies to have a manager.

Now that that unpleasantness was over, with a snap of Alastor’s fingers the band’s instruments materialized in place over in the recording booth.

“Let’s get started…”


	7. Heartbreak Town

Up at KBIH, Alastor once more listened to the song that the MurderPonies wanted to push as their first single as he aired it on his station. 

Absolutely fantastic. He knew he had made the right choice after hearing them that night at the Red Death.

After the song concluded he switched to an old commercial promoting cod-liver oil as a means to punish naughty children and removed his headphones. 

He still wasn’t satisfied. There was something missing to the song and he knew what it was. Odile’s Siren Voice. He needed to get back in contact with them, or rather with her, because that Quetzalcoatl was not one to be reckoned with.

He returned to the manager’s office and rummaged through the drawers in his desk. He knew he had their number somewhere…

The MurderPonies hadn’t spoken to Alastor in a while. They recorded their songs; that was all they needed from him. Now they needed to get themselves out there and find more work.

Ronnie was responsible for cutting the music together, even getting creative with some dance remixes. She was also put in charge of uploading their songs to sites like Damnedcamp and Liquify.

To further advertise themselves they got started on bouncing off ideas for music videos, which songs they wanted to showcase. They also agreed that Odile should act as the band’s poster girl, much to her chagrin. She didn’t mind being onstage but she hated the way she looked on camera.

At first they thought about hiring a director for their music videos, but as the weeks passed the rent on Odile, Quetzal and Ronnie’s loft was due. They could barely afford groceries as it is, much less someone to direct music videos. Worse still, they had almost no takers on Damnedcamp, maybe one or two song purchases total.

Soon enough Odile found herself looking for more affordable apartments, but none of them could house three demons. Even the ones that could were in the worst parts of Pentagram City, as inconceivable as that was. She kept thinking they’d be better off at a Motel 51, and that place was overrun with so many washed-up mad scientists there were rarely any vacancies.

Meanwhile Ronnie scoured the Sinternet for cheap filmmaking tools, but the only affordable stuff out there were in such terrible condition that it would cost more just to repair them, and she loved tinkering with things. Maybe she’d find the parts she needed at the junk yard, even if she had to fight that humongous electromagnetic tower crane demon whom _everyone_ feared…

As for Quetzal, he seemed to disappear for days on end, not coming back for maybe two or three days.

On this slow afternoon as Odile was looking at apartment listings again while Ronnie kept herself calm playing a handheld video game while sitting in Quetzal’s big blue chair. To their relief their bandleader made his return, looking exhausted and disheveled, like he hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep all night. Ronnie figured he wanted his chair so she stepped aside, but instead he lurched towards his bedroom, looking like a zombie returning to his grave. He didn’t even bother to remove his shoes as he fell facedown on his bed.

Odile set the apartment listings down and followed, originally planning to shut the door to make it easier for him to get some sleep, but there was something that had been bothering her about his recent disappearances.

“Quetzal?” Odile quietly asked as she leaned through the doorway. “What… exactly do you do when you’ve been going out?”

Quetzal lifted his face out of his pillow. “I know what you’re thinking, and, no. I’ve not turned to selling myself on the street yet.” He turned himself over on his back and added, “And even if I did, I promise I’d be leaving my tips on the counter.” He leaned his head back on his pillow and explained, “No, I’ve been scouting for gigs at clubs or bars, crashing with some of my dates so I can raid their fridge instead of ours. If they even _have_ a fridge…” He put his hand across his eyes. His head was just throbbing.

Odile was relieved to hear that he hadn’t gone down that road yet, however she wouldn’t have thought any less of him if he did go into sex work. She just would have preferred that it be a choice rather than an act of desperation.

Odile sighed and leaned back against the doorframe. “Well, maybe we should—”

“The answer is ‘no’,” Quetzal declined before she could finish.

“But I—”

“If you were going to suggest we ask Alastor for help, it’s out of the question.”

“But—”

“We ask for help from him again and he’s gonna give us the whole rigamarole about selling our souls to him. We’ve got Annie and her sisters, and they help us out for free. We’re fine.”

Odile wanted to protest once more, but there was no arguing with him.

She went back up to her room and decided to practice some choreography she had in mind for the next time the band had a live performance. Something that wouldn’t be hindered by the use of a standing microphone or a handheld one. 

An hour later phone rang out in the living room area. Odile stepped out onto the railing, but the three of them decided to let the machine get it.

“Yes, hello! This is Alastor. I do hope you get this message, I—”

Odile practically flew down the stairs to grab the receiver. “Yes, hello? This is Odile.”

“Odile! You’re just the person I wanted to speak with!”

Quetzal bolted upright on his bed and protested, “You gave him our number?!”

“What?! No!” Odile denied, covering the mouthpiece.

“Uh, actually I did,” Ronnie sheepishly confessed, pausing her game. “I thought it’d be a good idea to keep in touch in case something happened with the audio files!”

“Ugh, goddammit…” Quetzal groused as he pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “He doesn’t call _us_ , we call— You know what? Forget it!” He fell back down on the bed and covered his head with his pillow.

Ronnie tried not to take it personally, but that still hurt. “Well, sor-ry!” She pouted in the big blue chair as she proceeded with her game.

“Hello?” Alastor said. “Odile? Are you still there?”

“Yes, sorry about that. Go on.”

“Well, I just wanted to get in touch and let the band know that you all sound fantastic! Give my regards to the rest of the MurderPonies.”

Odile smiled. “I will.”

“Also, Odile, I hope you don’t think this too forward of me but I would very much like to see you again. Perhaps tonight? We could take a stroll around Entrail Park?”

“Um, yes. I’d love to.” Odile found herself nervously fiddling with the phone cord.

“Wonderful. I also have tickets to a concert around noontime tomorrow. Would you care to join me then, too?”

“Sure, maybe.”

“All right. Shall escort you from your apartment?”

“Uh, no! That won’t be necessary!” The last thing Odile wanted was to get an earful from Quetzal about giving Alastor their address. “How about we meet at Warwick’s?”

“Splendid idea! So I’ll see you in a few hours?”

“Yes. Six sounds good.”

“All right. See you then, my dear.”

“Bye.”

As Odile hung up the receiver Ronnie sat up straight, her face beaming. “So you’ve got a date with Alastor now?"

“More or less. Is that okay?” Odile loudly mocked in Quetzal’s direction.

Her roommate sat up and replied, “Hey, don’t let _me_ stop you! But don’t say I didn’t warn you if he tries to pull a Mephistopheles on you over that fancy steak dinner!”

“Thanks, _Dad_!” Odile sniped back as she headed for the stairs so she could get changed into something nicer. 

Warwick’s was still open, so Odile ordered a sandwich as she waited for Alastor, only for her date to show up and pick up the check for her.

With that unfaltering smile of his, Odile was well aware that she was probably making the biggest mistake of her afterlife by associating with the Radio Demon like this. However the truth was she just wanted a little diversion from everything. The stress and anxiety of the band not getting anywhere and debts to be paid weighed too heavy on her. Besides, this was the first guy she felt attracted to in years and she just wanted to have a fun time with him. Was that so much to ask?

Not to mention she was already in Hell for a rather bogus charge. It was hard to imagine things could get that much worse, save for maybe getting caught outside in one of the annual exterminations. Even so, she had spent so much of her life being scared that a single false move would ruin her life and destroy her career. Yet despite her efforts to be “good” it wound up happening anyway, so might as well enjoy the ride where she could.

Entrail Park was just as the name indicated. It was often a place for demons and imps to engage in petty gang wars by way of knife fights, usually ending with some poor idiot’s innards getting spilled out on the pavement. 

Fortunately, however, it wasn’t something that happened every day. When not used as a crude battleground it made a great spot for dates, even if most of those dates were solicitation of prostitutes. There was the inconvenience of avoiding stepping on some poor dope’s guts, but much like failing to clean up after one’s dog they’d be charged a fine for it. If they didn’t, then those misplaced organs were subject to the fine tradition of finders-keepers.

Such was almost the case with Alastor. At the edge of the walking trail he had spotted some delicious-looking organs piled up, only for him to kick them away in disgust when upon closer inspection he realized they were large intestines. Most unsanitary.

Alastor glanced at Odile, who had been so quiet their entire stroll. “You seem troubled, my dear. What’s the matter?”

“Oh, it’s just…” Odile didn’t want to tell him about the fight she and Ronnie had with Quetzal earlier. So instead she mentioned, “The band just isn’t picking up as well as we hoped… We don’t even get a lot of streaming on Liquify.”

“Hmm…”

Alastor hailed down a carriage ride pulled by a skeletal horse demon in a smudged and wrinkled suit and hat.

“That’s fifty bucks per ride,” the horse demon charged in a low, deadpan voice. 

He was a tad surprised that Alastor made no fuss and paid in full. He was so used to customers arguing with him and trying to haggle.

“All right, hop in,” the horse demon confirmed with a smile as he pocketed his fee.

The ride was rather relaxing, even if the sight of a horse-man pulling the carriage by himself and regularly whipping his own posterior was unintentionally humorous.

“By the way,” Alastor observed, “I noticed when we were recording that you didn’t use your Siren Voice. Why is that?”

“Oh. Well, we agreed that we only needed it for when dealing with an unruly crowd,” Odile answered.

“Ah. I see. So how _did_ you learn that marvelous technique anyway?”

Odile hesitated. She thought back to when she had arrived in Hell. How she was stricken with depression so severe that she spent a few years in the wasteland as a Blood Tree. How she met a fellow demoness named Daphne who had met the same fate as her. How they sang show tunes together to cheer themselves up until Odile’s tree trunk had opened and she was able to walk freely again. However she wasn’t sure if she was ready to tell him about that difficult time just yet.

“I… had a really good teacher,” Odile answered. Once again, it technically wasn’t a lie.

She noticed that despite the relaxing nature of the carriage ride, Alastor still sat straight and in tension, like he was patiently expecting a business meeting to begin at any moment.

Well, if either of them was going to make the first move it might as well be her. She reached out and put her hand over his. Alastor seemed confused by this gesture as she gently pulled it out from his lap and made their fingers intertwine. He looked at her as if to question what she was doing and she only gave a sweet smile.

Alastor’s ears stood erect as his heart raced. Was he blushing? He slightly turned his head away hoping she wouldn’t see. What in Lucifer’s name could be causing such a sensation? Was he sick? Was he going to die?

Then why did he have the sudden impulse to ask her, “Do you want to come back to my place?”


	8. I've Got A Feeling That I'm Falling

It didn’t surprise Odile that Alastor lived in a penthouse of sorts. However she hadn’t anticipated one that was so rustic in its interior.

The wooden floors occasionally creaked under their weight, but at least it was well-swept. Adorning the walls were various kinds of hunting trophies, from an elk’s horns to a buck’s head, to a stuffed beaver on top of the china cabinet. Within said cabinet there were several sharp weapons on stands and in individual display cases, many of them rusted and left unused for years with the cabinet itself locked tight.

The cold, dead eyes of the taxidermy animals were very unsettling, but then again Odile recalled having made love under far less accommodating circumstances long ago.

As Alastor took her jacket she joked, “I don’t suppose your friends here like to watch…”

“Hmm? Ah, yes, my menagerie.” Alastor chuckled. “No need to worry about them, they’re all perfectly dead. Now I _could_ make them alive if you wanted me to,” he offered as he prepared to snap his finger.

“No, no, thank you. I much prefer the privacy.”

“As you wish.” Alastor found himself blushing again, and now he was getting lightheaded as well. He cleared his throat. “I’ll just go get that coffee…”

After preparing a pot of decaf coffee, Alastor put on an Annette Hanshaw record and he and Odile sat quietly on the sofa together, just enjoying the view of the city from his wide window. Once again, while they were perfectly content sitting in silence, Alastor seemed so nervous and awkward in spite of trying to look dignified.

“Anyway, I do hope you join me for the concert tomorrow,” he suggested. “It was rather difficult obtaining these tickets as Vera the Volatile is in such high-demand…”

Odile set her cup on the coffee table as once more she decided to take matters in her own hands, so to speak. She put her hand on Alastor’s knee and leaned in as she gently ran her palm up his thigh, leaving Alastor flustered mid-statement.

“I-I, uh…” Alastor’s face was turning bright red. “Odile, what are you—?”

Odile gently kissed Alastor’s lips, and to his own surprise he didn’t resist. He held her closer, as he quite liked it. He liked it very much as she started stroking his hair. He didn’t resist as she caressed her fingers down his jawline and undid his bowtie. She unfastened a few buttons on his shirt and he made no objections as her touch explored down to his collarbone. Odile’s fingers moved underneath his shirt collar and she lovingly rubbed his shoulder as if to relieve his tension, and Alastor shivered as she nibbled at his neck.

Alastor was overwhelmed with the mere sensation of touch. He fell back, pulling Odile down with him. But then she paused, and in his haze Alastor noticed she unzipped the back of her elastic bodice and pulled down the shoulder straps.

“Odile, what are you—?”

She then took his wrist and brought his hand underneath her blouse to her left breast.

“Odile!” Alastor cried as he pushed her back to the other end of the sofa like it was a reflex. To Odile’s own surprise he seemed to recoil in shock and horror.

“Oh, God! I’m so sorry!” Odile apologized, realizing she had crossed a line. “I had no idea you were…”

Alastor only panted like an animal that had just received a mild shock.

In the awkward silence Odile readjusted her blouse and refastened her bodice.

“I’m so sorry,” she apologized again. “I’ll never do that again.”

“No, no, don’t… Please, don’t punish yourself,” Alastor answered, still trembling a little. “That was… that was just a bit much at once…”

“Okay.” Odile straightened out her skirt. “I’m sorry. I really should’ve asked first.”

“Well, I didn’t think you would be so… forward.” Alastor managed to calm himself down. “You always seemed so shy and reserved.”

Odile chuckled. “That’s what they _all_ say.”

Alastor looked puzzled, realizing the implications. “Wait, so this isn’t your—”

“Nope,” Odile confirmed as she shook her head. “How do you think a sweet little thing like me _got_ into Hell? I mean, I can do fine without it. But it’s like… If there’s someone I’m actually attracted to I wouldn’t mind letting them scratch my itch.”

“Oh… I’m flattered. Really. You just… understand that I’d rather not do that kind of thing.”

Odile nodded.

“At least… not now, anyway.”

“That’s perfectly fine by me.” Odile bashfully glanced away. “Again, I’m sorry. I made assumptions based on the fact that you invited me to your place.”

Alastor was baffled. “Wait, so is it tradition to have sexual relations if you bring your date to your home?”

“Not necessarily, but it’s very common. Not required, but common.”

“I see.” He paused. “Wait, before you said that you don’t really need sexual relations. Then why did you just… you know?”

“Because I really like you and it feels good. Or at least it _can_ feel good, depending on who you’re doing it with…”

“Hmm. It sounds like… you speak from experience.” Alastor was blushing again, albeit for different reasons now.

“Mm-hm. Besides, I also wanted to make _you_ feel good.”

“Oh… In that case, thank you. I very much appreciate the gesture.” He nervously cleared his throat and once more reached for his cup of coffee, hoping to resume some semblance of casual conversation. “Uh, Odile? Before you mentioned something about how it’s why you’re in Hell… Care to explain?”

Odile sighed. “Where to start…?” She leaned her head back on the sofa. “Well… As you might have guessed I was with the National Ballet Company. There was this guy who had a stake not only in the ballet but in the opera as well. Trust-fund boy, you know? His name was Daniel Roth. And I fell for him. Bad. But…” Odile tried and failed to stifle back a tear, wiping it on the edge of her sleeve. “Later I found out he was already married. To an opera singer, no less. Even though I stopped seeing him apparently being the ‘Other Woman’ under false pretenses still counts as a sin.”

Alastor had no words to add. It was one of the few moments where he didn’t smile.

“More shit happened after that before I died, but that’s the gist of it. Not surprised. The only reason Lilith is the queen of Hell is because Adam didn’t like her being on top. And I know Daniel would’ve also been damned, but it’s not much comfort…”

“So… How did you die?” Alastor inquired with caution. “Or is that too—”

“No, it’s okay.” She pointed to the scar on her right cheek, looking like a permanent stream of tears from her eye. “I was driving home. I remember I was also crying a lot… It was cold and rainy, and parts of the road were still icy. I slid on a bridge, hit one of the suspension supports first, before falling into the water… The last things I remember were that it was cold and dark…”

“Oh…”

Once more there was silence, like they both wanted to let the sad news settle to the bottom first.

As of now Alastor had no words to say. What can one really say upon hearing someone’s first-hand account of their own death? Instead he edged his way closer to her.

Odile rested her head on his shoulder. “Thanks for listening.”

“Of course.” Alastor draped his arm around Odile. “However, even if we’re not going to make love, I’d still really like for you to stay the night. That is, if you’d like to go to the concert tomorrow. Otherwise, I can take you home if you wish.”

Odile smiled. “I’d love that very much. To stay the night and go to the concert, that is…”

She put her hand on his knee again, only to pull it back so as not to make him uncomfortable again. However he gently took her wrist and rested her palm on his knee. He was okay with that.


	9. 11 Out Of 10

Even though Alastor and Odile did not make love that night, they shared many a close cuddles together in his bed. He loaned her one of his spare pajamas, the ones without the vertical stripes. At one point during the night as he slept Odile undid the top two buttons of the shirt in hopes of tempting him with a little cleavage, instead rendering him a nervous, blushing creature over breakfast the next morning. He looked like a little bunny as he got flustered and retreated to the kitchen. So adorable.

Odile went into the other room to use his phone and give her roommates a call.

“And just where have you been, young lady?” Ronnie teased on the other end.

“Ha, ha. Very funny,” Odile replied. “I’m at Alastor’s place, but could you not tell that to Quetzal?”

“Why would I? He’s not here.”

“What?”

“Yeah, Quetzal’s gone out again. Some time last night, I think.”

“Oh.” Odile had hoped that he had given himself a break this time. “Well, in that case, I’m going to be out again and I probably won’t get back to the loft until maybe this afternoon. Okay?”

“Okay. If Quetzal gets back before you do I’ll just tell him you came back last night and you’ve gone for a walk again. He doesn’t need to know you slept with the Radio Demon.”

Now Odile was getting flustered. “I didn’t sleep with him!” she corrected.

“But you’re staying at his place. So you’re technically sleeping _with_ him.”

Arguing semantics with her. Odile rolled her eyes and confirmed, “Yes, I’m at his place, but I didn’t have sex with him.”

“Who said anything about you two having sex? I figured maybe you crashed on his couch or something.”

“Uh, yeah.” Odile blushed as she re-buttoned her pajamas. “Yeah, that’s right.”

Alastor and Odile didn’t take off for the concert until a little after noon. It took place at an outdoor stadium that hosted softball games that often ended with players getting into the inevitable fistfight, usually over using someone’s femur for a bat without their permission.

Alastor had mentioned before that he had a hard time obtaining tickets to this venue and Odile could see why. The place was packed. Alastor was lucky he managed to get seats about four rows away from the field.

As the technical team finished setting up Alastor handed Odile a pair of opera glasses. “You may need these,” he suggested.

Next the accompaniment of musicians took their places, making a few last-minute adjustments in tuning their instruments.

Soon enough the lady of the hour, Vera the Volatile, arrived onto the field in all her regality as the crowd cheered to welcome her.

Odile got a good look at her. Despite being a lady peafowl demon she had all the ostentatious colors of a peacock. Her luxurious mate-attracting tail feathers trailed behind her like a magnificent brightly-hued wedding gown as she waved and blew kisses to her adoring crowd. As Odile got a good look at her face she felt something drop in the pit of her stomach.

Vera began the show with some classic torch songs, and the crowd was quietly entranced. However Odile couldn’t just settle down and enjoy the show. Something was irritating her like the audible version of sheets of sandpaper being rubbed together, except amplified to a most unbearable level. It rang not just in Odile’s ears, but through her head.

She tried popping her ears, thinking maybe it was the speaker quality, but it didn’t help. She found herself getting dizzy, then nauseous. She got another good look at Vera through the opera glasses and realized it was true. It really was her.

She felt like the world around her was vibrating beyond her control and it was making her sick. She had to get out of there. She rushed out of her seat, weaving in front of several irritated audience members as she made it to the aisle, barely hearing Alastor call for her behind her.

The ringing and the vibrating stopped as soon as she made it to the hall, so she stopped to regain her sense of equilibrium as Alastor caught up with her.

“Heavens to Betsy!” Alastor cried. He gently rubbed at Odile’s back and asked, “Odile! Are you all right?”

Odile caught her breath. “It’s her… It really is her…!” She glared up at Alastor. “You knew…! You knew it was the Vera I know and you brought me to her?!”

“My dear! I assure you that was not my reasoning for bringing you here!” Alastor swore.

Before he could make any further protestations Odile dashed over to the ladies’ room. Odile managed to find a vacant stall before vomiting into the toilet.

After washing her face and thoroughly rinsing her mouth out she staggered back into the hall where Alastor was awkwardly waiting.

“I swear, Odile, I did not mean for that to happen!” he promised. “If I had known you would have such a reaction to another Siren Voice—”

“No, that’s not it…” Odile croaked as she wiped a trickle of water from her chin. Her eyes narrowed. “It’s worse. “I _do_ know that bitch…”

For obvious reasons, Alastor and Odile decided to skip the rest of the concert, instead sitting on a bench outside the stadium as Odile’s nausea subsided.

She took a deep breath and explained, “You know when I told you that Daniel Roth was already married?” She pointed in the direction of the stadium. “ _Vera_ was his wife. I didn’t even know that until _after_ I broke it off with him, but that didn’t stop her from making a large spectacle about it… She ruined my career in the worst way. First, during the season’s run of _Swan Lake_ I found my black swan costume torn to shreds, while my Odette costume was defaced with the words ‘Rigid Slut’ for everyone to see…”

Alastor’s ears folded back as his eyes widened in horror and his usual grin shrank to a frown.

“I guess Daniel told her about how I suspected I was asexual…” Odile solemnly continued. “The show had to be suspended after that until new costumes were made, but most everyone blamed me for it. Then during rehearsals the floors had apparently been waxed to a point that I slipped and fell. I didn’t just twist my ankle, it was damaged to a point where I couldn’t dance in the ballet again… As if my disappointment in Daniel wasn’t bad enough…” Odile found herself crying.

Alastor was quiet, allowing her to weep on his shoulder, as he was once more stunned with hearing such hardship and seeing her forced to relive it again.

His eyes narrowed as his grin made a frightening return, his lip curling like a snarling carnivor. “She did all that, did she? What are the odds…” He stroked her hair as Alastor confessed, “Odile, I swear on my unmarked grave that I never would have bought the tickets if I had known it would give you such a violent reaction. It was never my intention to make you feel ill or bring back any awful memories.”

“Why did you bring me here?” Odile demanded. “What was so important that you wanted me to listen to that overrated banshee so badly?”

He took her hand. “I’ll show you…”

Alastor brought Odile back to his radio station where he kept his vast wall-to-wall library of music. He hooked up two sets of headphones to his turntable before retrieving a copy of Vera the Volatile’s first hit album since she entered Hell, _Carmen’s Menagerie_.

Their headphones secured, he hesitated before putting the needle on the record.

“Now, you tell me if you feel ill at all.”

Odile nodded and braced herself as the record started.

The first song was a rendition of Habanera from the opera _Carmen_ , modernized with a more jazzy flavor to it. It had always been Odile’s favorite song from the opera; she might have enjoyed it if it wasn’t Vera singing it.

“What do you hear?” Alastor questioned.

“There’s…” Odile observed. “… Kind of a weird vibration to it. Like a nonstop tuning fork…” She took her headphones off. “It was kind of like that in the stadium, too. But it was a lot worse there.”

“That, my dear, is the frequency of her Siren Voice. It doesn’t seem to affect you like most other demons, probably because you know the technique yourself,” Alastor further explained as he removed his own headphones. He switched the turntable off and continued, “In any case, it is why her records sell like hot cakes and why she is in such high-demand for live performances. If you wish to compete with that, you’re going to have to cheat a little yourself. What’s more, you have an advantage over her in that you can sing _and_ dance.” His smile curled even further. “You could very well mesmerize the masses through both sight and sound.”

Odile sheepishly fiddled with the curls at the ends of her long hair. She had never looked at it that way before.

“You see, my dear,” Alastor continued, “what I had in mind is that… perhaps it would be best if you struck out on your own. A solo act. It’s become abundantly clear that your friend Quetzal doesn’t care much for me, so re-recording the songs would be out of the question. And you always seem so restrained on the stage. The standing microphone and—”

“I’m working on that!” Odile assured. “I’ve been working on some choreography that could work even with me standing in the same place, or with one free hand if I have to hold the mic.”

“Ah! It’s wonderful to hear you’re a prepared person!” Alastor stated with glee. “But regardless, space for you _and_ the other band members doesn’t leave you much room on the stage. What’s more, you all have a shared image to uphold that doesn’t grant you much space for your own, does it?”

Odile sheepishly glanced away. “No. But when we get started on music videos…”

“And just when is that going to be? How long must you restrain yourself before you really spread your wings as a performer?”

“But…” Odile was trying to find any excuse not to. “But I can’t write songs.”

“You don’t have to!” Alastor pointed to his vast record collection behind him. “I have a whole library of songs for you to work from. Intellectual property has no meaning down here, and you can have your pick. I’ve got tunes from Duke Ellington, to the Divinyls, to Daniel Ingram. None of this ‘dubstep’, though. I can’t stand that noise…” Alastor shivered.

Odile couldn’t stop thinking of the others. “I… I couldn’t. I couldn’t do that. Quetzal is already working so hard just to find us a new venue to play.”

Alastor thoughtfully leaned back in his seat. “Think it over, as I see that you, too, have a score to settle with Vera.”

Odile sighed. She very much liked the idea of beating Vera at her own game, but did she really need to leave the band behind in order to do so?

“If I may be so bold, Odile,” Alastor asked, “what exactly did you see in this ‘Daniel Roth’ fellow?”

“Well…” Odile slumped back in her seat trying to find the best way to put it. “It was like I fell in love with a Victor Van Dort-type, but he turned out to be a total Sam Witwicky.”

Alastor paused in awkward silence. “I have no idea who they are!” he remarked in a cheerful tone.

“Oh…” Odile blushed. She kept forgetting what generation Alastor was from. “Well… It’s like this. I fell in love with him because he seemed so damn sweet and shy and looked like he could use a friend, but really he was a self-entitled, insecure, over-compensating, paranoid, lazy, defeatist coward.”

Alastor glanced at her with an almost impressed look on his face. “My goodness! Now _that’s_ a mouthful! With a bit of reworking, you’ve got yourself a fine tongue-twister, there!”

They both lightly chuckled, and then calmed down again.

“And trust me, my dear,” Alastor added, “I know the feeling…” He leaned in closer and explained, “You never hear the one with your name on it…” He lifted his bangs with his index finger to reveal a faded but still barely visible scar of an exit wound in the center of his forehead. “… Especially when it’s courtesy of a compatriot…”

“Damn…” Odile responded.

As if to break the uncomfortable silence, Odile’s phone rang.

“Oh! Excuse me…” She saw the caller ID. “It’s Quetzal! I have to take this!” She picked it up. “Hello, Quetzal! How are you—?” Her face lit up. “Oh, that’s great! When? … Okay. I’ll be back in a few.” She put her phone away and looked at Alastor in sudden high spirits. “Quetzal found us a gig for tonight!”


	10. Battle

Quetzal succeeded in finding another gig for the MurderPonies, this time at a club called R’lyeh. It was smaller and not as nice-looking as the Red Death, with rowdier clientele besides.

They had to make due with a smaller stage, with barely enough room for the band members and their equipment. However they weren’t in any place to complain. As far as Quetzal was concerned it was a miracle finding a place that was willing to pay them for a performance.

They opened with the song that they had been trying to push as their first single. It wasn’t so bad. They could technically play the song and hit all the beats while on the small stage. It was just a bummer that without a lot of room they couldn’t put more gusto into their presentation.

The one who seemed to have it worst was Quetzal. It wasn’t enough that he couldn’t move around much, but he was practically dead on his feet from exhaustion. Normally he loved to play up the Rock Legend Lothario image and flirt with the nearest audience member with a glance and a wink, maybe throwing in a serpentine pelvic thrust at the height of his guitar solo. But he had been out and about so long the previous night in finding this place that he didn’t even have the energy needed for his solo, much less flirt with some lucky demon in the front row at the same time.

Alastor had come along as well. After Odile got the call about the gig he made a promise that he would come see to help support them. He remained in the back of the audience so as not to get swept up in the frenzy of the other patrons, whom he didn’t want to be near anyway as they reeked of beer and general poor hygiene.

He could hear that Odile was only putting in enough of her Siren Voice to keep the audience from getting too violent, and his ears folded back in slight disappointment. She still wasn’t following his advice. He looked over at Quetzal, and could see just how exhausted he was. He might have been doing fine on the guitar for now, but he didn’t look so well…

Alastor narrowed his eyes on him with a smirk. As the song approached the bridge he raised his right hand and a barely visible shadow rose from the floorboards behind Quetzal’s right shin. With a flick of the wrist he made a small motion like he was giving a light slap.

With that, Quetzal collapsed, completely unable to hold himself up anymore and literally falling apart as his bones rattled on the stage and his guitar hit a sour note on impact.

The rest of the band dropped everything and hurried over to him in a panic. This had never happened to him before.

Ronnie took it upon herself to start gathering his smaller bones like they were spilled puzzle pieces while Annie retrieved one of their empty guitar cases to put them in.

Odile picked up his skull. “Quetzal! Are you all right?! Speak to me!”

He moaned as his eyelids flickered in and out of consciousness, and his right arm, which was still mostly intact, twitched like he received a mild electric shock.

“We need to get him outta here!” cried Ronnie as she took his skull out of Odile’s hands and put it with the rest of his bones.

Needless to say the crowd was getting upset at the abrupt end of their performance.

“Where’s the show?!”

“The f*ck is going on?!”

“Laaaaame!!”

Ronnie and Annie lifted the open guitar case with Quetzal in it like a makeshift stretcher, and Odile was growing wary of the audience getting louder and angrier.

“I want my money back!”

“You f*cking suck!”

Odile was barely able to remain calm given everything that was going on. “You guys get him to the van! I got this!”

The two ladies nodded and they carried their unconscious guitarist out the back entrance. The crowd looked like they were going to break into a full-scale riot, so Odile returned to her place at the standing mic, dodging beer bottle thrown at her head, and cleared her throat.

She began with some soothing vocalizations, enough to get the unruly patrons to calm down and pay attention to her. She continued until they were completely silent and all eyes were on her. Many of the demons seemed confused at what she was doing, but at least they calmed down.

She broke out into the song itself; her vocals grew stronger, rendering the audience stunned and in awe of her.

Just like at Vera’s concert, they was rendered helpless and in love with Odile’s voice. Not a single one of them even blinked, and they were relaxed to a point where they might have fallen asleep where they stood if they weren’t so keen on listening to her.

She decided to try something. She took the mic off its stand and began to dance as well. Some admittedly rather basic moves since she only had one free hand, but enough to project an alluring image of a woman who was running the show now.

In the back of the audience Alastor found himself getting chills. Neither the Siren Song nor her dance affected him the same way as the others, but he found her performance breathtaking nonetheless.

He decided to give her a hand. He snapped his fingers and behind Odile emerged an entourage of shadow demons, instruments in hand, as they provided some additional musical accompaniment.

As Odile approached the chorus she brought out the big guns. A robust, confident voice of a musical femme fatale, paired with the choreography she had been preparing before. A voice that demanded without the words, _Listen to me! You need to hear my voice! You will want to hear me again! You will want to see me again!_

The crowd cheered and swayed to the music, some making the devil horn salute. They loved it and they loved her. She had complete control of her image and they adored her unconditionally for it.

She brought her song to its conclusion and the crowd roared, falling over themselves just to declare their adoration. It wasn’t enough that she kept them at bay, but they wanted more from her.

And Odile loved it, too. She had never heard such applause for her performance before. Not even during her days at the National Ballet. It was wonderfully intoxicating, inducing a rush of pride and bliss she hadn’t known in so long.

Then she remembered why she had to take over in the first place. She had to check in on Quetzal’s condition.

She set the mic back in its stand. “I’ll be right back.” She blew them a kiss and added, “There will be more. I promise.”

She rushed out back and found Ronnie and Annie inside the van with their unconscious guitarist, literally putting him back together piece by piece.

“How is he?” Odile asked worriedly.

“Alive,” Ronnie answered as she snapped Quetzal’s right tibia back in his knee.

“But just barely,” Annie continued. “Apparently the big idiot had been scouring the city all night for this gig.”

Quetzal lightly moaned and Odile felt awful. He shouldn’t have to work himself like this.

“Hey, sounds like you’re doing okay in there,” Annie reassured Odile.

“Yeah…” Despite her promise out there, Odile felt terrible leaving her friends like this. “They want another song…”

“Then go on ahead. Hopefully we can still get paid.”

Odile nodded. She stepped through the back entrance once again and bumped right into Alastor, who had to finagle with security to get backstage.

“Odile! That was absolutely wonderful!” he declared gleefully. “You held yourself so well up there! Just astounding!” Then he remembered, “Oh, my heavens! How is Quetzal? Is he all right?”

“Yeah, he’s okay…” She couldn’t dwell on that for long as she could hear the crowd demanding her return, not as angry as before but undeniably getting impatient.

She made her way back towards the stage, but before stepping back out through the curtains she turned to Alastor, looked him in the eye and agreed, “I’m in.”


	11. What Baby Wants

“See? What did I tell you, Odile? They love you and only you!” Alastor declared with elation. He had called Odile over to his station to discuss his proposal further.

“Yeah, I suppose they do…” Odile agreed reluctantly.

“What’s wrong, my dear? You seem down,” he remarked as he lifted her chin.

“Oh, I guess I always hoped this was something I’d be able to share with the band…”

“Odile, your star is only soaring because you never _needed_ the band,” Alastor smirked. “I am confused. That night at R’lyeh you sounded so certain of going through with this.”

“Well, that was a few days ago and I’ve had plenty of time to sleep on it,” Odile countered. “I mean, Quetzal has gotten better and—”

“And the reason he got so ill to begin with was his refusal to accept my help!” He quickly realized just how suspicious that sounded so he cleared his throat. “What I mean by that is if he had just accepted my services as manager he wouldn’t have to exhaust himself finding work. This is what I’m talking about, Odile. They’re not doing you any favors holding you back like this.”

“Holding me back…?!” She wanted to object to that notion but she also feared that he might have been right. She received her grandest applause singing solo than she ever had with the MurderPonies.

It seemed she didn’t need any more convincing. Alastor made a sweeping motion with with his open palm and a sheet of yellow parchment materialized out of thin air. He gently pressed it on top of his desk with his finger as he sat down in his chair. Odile followed suit and took a seat in the black wooden chair across from him, expecting to keep things professional, but then he pulled her up beside him with a twirl of his index finger. Odile feared that this was most improper. Then again, there was something undeniably intimate about this seating arrangement, not to mention she at least felt safe with him.

Alastor retrieved from his coat pocket a fountain pen that came to a sharp point and he winced as he pricked his finger with it. With his blood he drafted down a new contract in impeccably nice handwriting, given the source of the ink.

Over the course of the proceeding hour he and Odile calmly discussed and agreed upon stipulations to the contract. First and foremost, absolutely no exchange of souls, which Alastor did not try to insist or negotiate this time.

When everything was complete, Alastor passed Odile the fountain pen and she signed in ruby-colored ink against the brownish red of Alastor’s dried blood.

“Excellent,” said Alastor in a pleased tone. “Glad to see that we could—” he added as he shook her hand, only to wince as he realized he was still bleeding. “Oh, heavens… I’m sorry. Normally it—”

However Odile surprised him when she took his hand and put her lips around his finger.

Alastor was somewhat stunned as he felt her tongue lick the blood from his wound, and he felt his heart race faster than before. Was this the fabled “desire”? There was a look in her eye like a predator keeping still before it pounced upon its prey. Despite her sweetness she was undeniably twisted, and he loved it.

Odile slowly removed his finger from her lips, having quelled the bleeding, and Alastor started to lean forward wanting to kiss her. He wanted so badly to take her in his arms and lie her on top of the desk right then and there, if not to make love then the closest approximation that didn’t involve intercourse. Odile very much wanted the same.

But Alastor nervously glanced down at the contract. Now was not the time. There was still work to be done.

He nervously cleared his throat as he pulled back and got out of his chair, leaving Odile hanging for that kiss. At first she was annoyed, but quickly figured he was probably still squeamish after their last sexual encounter, judging by how flustered he looked.

With his back sheepishly turned to her as he tried to pull himself together, she noticed his tail was twitching. Like an affectionate instinct she reached out and lovingly fondled its fluff, making him cry out in a high voice. He darted around in near-shock that she’d do that, but she gave him a sly smirk. That’s what you get for leaving her hanging like that. Besides, his fluffy tail was so cute she had to play with it the same way that she would play with a boyfriend’s long hair.

Alastor cleared his throat again, wanting to get back to the matters at hand, and tapped on the contract with the dull end of his pen. It levitated off the desk and furled on its own, closing itself with a wax seal of a bright red eye.

“So what do you wish to call yourself?” he asked as he tucked the contract in his coat.

“Wait, you’re letting _me_ choose?” Odile clarified.

“Of course! Just who do you take me for? My job is to manage what kind of shows and recordings you do. You technically have all the power with that voice of yours, therefore it only seems fair that you have total control of your image. Isn’t that why you were dissatisfied with the MurderPonies…?”

Odile thought it over.

“So, my dear…” He stood beside her and whispered in her ear, “What’s your persona going to be…?”

Odile had made her decision. “I am the Swan Queen.”

Alastor’s smile widened even further. “Outstanding choice.”

He took her hand and helped her stand as his staff appeared in his hand. Tapping it on the floor three times, Odile’s outfit transformed into a whole new one. He made a motion with his free hand like he was pulling down a window shade and a floor-length mirror stretched into being. What she now wore was a black dress with violet trimmings that looked like a blend between a seductive witch and a flamenco dancer. Her hair was tied up and flowing behind her, held in place by a comb adorned with a pair of feathers made to resemble devil horns. Odile was speechless. It looked magnificent on her.

Alastor draped his arm around her shoulders and affectionately rested his head on hers. “You look beautiful, my queen…”


	12. You Keep Me Hangin' On

All it took was that one successful performance for Odile to become a very literal overnight sensation. Not only did she get called back to perform at R’lyeh, but everyone wanted her to perform at their venues, whether they were clubs, bars, grungy coffee houses, or even private parties.

With her new moniker as the Swan Queen she cut her own album with Alastor’s help and it sold like mad. Fans didn’t just want her music, they wanted anything that had the slightest relation to her. If her album sold out then people would steal the stands which those albums were placed on. They ripped posters out of their glass displays at bus stops. Some even tried to steal the advertisements off of the sides of the busses themselves, with messy results.

With all this demand for her Odile tried to recommend the MurderPonies as well, however after that incident where Quetzal collapsed on the stage there wasn’t a lot of confidence in them as professionals. Besides, those patrons had heard Odile’s voice and it was all they wanted to hear. Little did Odile anticipate that her Siren Voice was not only soothing and hypnotic, but it was intoxicating to a point of borderline addictive.

Frankly, so was the applause. She kept thinking about that night; how she was able to creatively cut loose for once and be adored for it.

With all this going on Quetzal was less inclined to rehearse, write new songs, or seek a replacement for the band’s lead singer. He wasn’t even in the mood to look for dates. Instead he found himself moping in his room most of the time.

How was he _supposed_ to feel about this? He was glad Odile stepped in and they still technically got paid for their gig, but then _her_ career took off leaving them behind. Sort of. She’d stop by with checks written out to them, but that didn’t negate the fact that now the Radio Demon seemed to act as both her manager and her sugar daddy. Something just didn’t seem right about that.

With all that in mind, Ronnie figured it best not to push Quetzal or nag him to get back out. Losing their lead singer was a shock to her and Annie as well and it would probably be a while before they were up for moving onward.

That didn’t stop Annie from visiting like she normally did. Even if they weren’t doing any song collaborations it was just nice to hang out for a bit, maybe raid their fridge.

As usual the door was left open for her to come right in.

Annie stepped inside whistling the melody from _Into The Woods_ while Ronnie, despite her focus centered on her handheld video game, instinctively sang along, _“Into the woods, we’re goin’ on a jour-ney!”_

Annie paused, slightly embarrassed. Ever since she, Ellie and Teri were in their high school production of that show she could never get those tunes out of her head and now Ronnie knew.

She tossed her bag on the sofa. “Hey! How’s Quetzal?”

“Still sulking in his room,” Ronnie answered without pausing her game. Ronnie wasn’t one who normally expressed her emotions, but Annie could hear that her voice was lower than usual. The closest indication that she was feeling down.

“Oh, jeez. What for?”

Ronnie shrugged. “We still get checks from Odile for rent, so it’s not that.”

Annie spotted one of said checks right there on the kitchen counter. Attached with a paper clip was a handwritten note that read:

_I hope you are all doing well._

_Miss you. Odile_

Annie’s ears folded back. _We miss you, too…_

She made her way to Quetzal’s room as she stated, “I’ll talk to him.”

Annie lightly knocked on the door out of courtesy before letting herself in. Curled up on the bed was Quetzal, just a scowling skeleton inside a blanket burrito with only his long tail feathers hanging out.

“Hey,” Annie greeted. She got no response from him. “Oh, come on, Quetzal! You’re acting like such a brat!” She leaned against the door frame in frustration. “Look, obviously you’re upset at Odile going solo, so maybe it’s high-time you talk to her.”

“And why would I do that?” Quetzal responded, his voice muffled muffled through the blanket.

“Cuz she’s still your friend, isn’t she? You should be happy for her success! Lilith knows I am!”

“But she left us behind, Annie.”

“Well, yeah,” Annie reluctantly agreed. “But… maybe we just weren’t working so well together. At least, not as well as we thought. It’s like me and my sisters. We made a great team as a band but sharing the same body didn’t work out as well so… here we are now!”

Quetzal sulked still.

“Hey…” Annie sat down next to him and pulled the blanket off his head like a cowl, his hair a mess.

It was then Quetzal was able to open up. “She’s doing so much better off without us… What does that say about the band? Or that Alastor is her manager now and she’s a success after I told him to get lost…?”

Annie gave her right ear a good scratch with her hind foot as a dog would. “I dunno. I thought we did good together, but… I guess she just needed something else that she could only do on her own. And, yeah, I’ll bet her new boy-toy knows more about the biz than we do.”

It was quiet for a while, and Annie didn’t know what else to say to make it easier for him.

“I think I’ll just leave you alone for now…” She walked out and quietly shut the door behind her.

Quetzal fell face-first into his bed and buried his head under his pillow, trying in vain to get the thoughts of self-loathing out of his head. He had always hoped they’d make it together but here she was doing fine without the rest of them.

Okay. He had to admit. He was jealous of her.

He was also surprised that neither Ronnie nor Annie seemed upset by this. Like the band was just another hobby for them in lieu of going to clubs or playing video games.

But Annie was also right. Maybe he’d feel a lot better if he just gave his friend his blessing.

Quetzal managed to find his way to Odile’s latest concert hosted at an old amphitheater, but he couldn’t get a backstage pass or even a ticket because they were all out. However he was not going to let that deter him.

His years as an assassin gave him vast experience in disguise and sneaking into places he shouldn’t be able to get in. Tucking his tail feathers in his pants, he managed to pass himself off as a roadie in his sunglasses, t-shirt and black jeans. He also succeeded in helping with setting up for the show, basically to complete the disguise in hopes that he wouldn’t be spotted.

He quietly remained in the wings to watch some of Odile’s show.

It was far more elaborate than the MurderPonies had ever could have done. Colored lights, complex choreography, sometimes even hints of a narrative going on. One of betrayal, abandonment, and revenge through sexuality. Quetzal found himself blushing as the choreography got a little racy at times, primarily themes of dominance on Odile’s part. He didn’t think she had it in her.

He had to admit, she put on a good performance. She really looked like she was enjoying herself with the more elaborate dance numbers and these tuxedoed shadow demons acting as her backup.

Quetzal smiled. As much as he had hoped this was something they could have shared together, he really was glad for her success. He figured he would pop by her dressing room later and tell her that. Give her a big hug and wish her good luck.

He absentmindedly took a step back when he heard a noise like a snake’s hiss, startling him and barely stifling a surprised shriek.

He looked on the wall and saw what appeared to be Alastor’s very Shadow, seemingly with a mind of its own and growling at him like a cat that just had its tail stepped on. Quetzal had apparently stepped on the Shadow’s shin with his heel.

“I am so sorry!” Quetzal instinctively apologized as he stepped away. “I didn’t mean—”

But then something else ran through his head. Something disturbingly familiar. Radio static. He felt faintly nauseous as he was reminded of the night he collapsed onstage and left in an exhausted delirium.

“Oh, don’t you worry yourself about it!” the real Alastor assured him as he lightly patted Quetzal’s back, not recognizing him. “He can be so touchy sometimes…” He looked at the Shadow and chided, “Now you behave. He’s doing us a good service for Odile’s show and we should pay him the proper respect.”

Quetzal didn’t have time to enjoy the relief that Alastor did not yet realize who he really was. He carefully stepped back, turning his face away so that it may stay that way. He slipped out the back entrance of the amphitheater, terrified as he had just realized something horrible about that night at R’lyeh.

Change of plans: He wasn’t going to have time to wish Odile luck. She was no doubt going to stop by the loft within the week with another check for their rent, so he will tell her then.

Besides being so close to getting caught by Alastor, this was very serious and he knew he was not going to get the chance to talk to Odile alone at the present moment. As he made his way back towards his building he lamented that he had to miss out on Odile’s big finale.


	13. Pleasure and Pain

As per usual, after a show Odile would be driven straight back home after getting out of costume and into her street clothes. Or rather she would be brought back to Alastor’s penthouse, since she no longer lived with Quetzal and Ronnie.

Following the signing of their contract Alastor had invited her to stay with him and she made no hesitation in agreeing to that. She had packed and moved most of her essentials over the proceeding weeks, but wasn’t entirely sure if this was going to be permanent. She had her suspicions that once her fifteen minutes of fame were over she and Alastor would inevitably split up. Or once they both had their revenge on Vera they wouldn’t have much to bond over anymore.

That was a small part in why she still sent checks to her former roommates to help pay their rent. In addition to just wanting to help her friends out, she wanted to keep the lines of goodwill open in case she needed to fall back on them.

Odile got out of her street clothes into a black silk nightgown and robe.

Normally after a show Alastor would drop her off, bid her goodnight and leave for the radio station once more to prepare for the next song recording or upcoming concert. Odile would always find him sleeping beside her the next morning, but she didn’t want that. Not tonight.

She peeked out from her bedroom doorway and, as predicted, he was getting ready to head out again.

He reached for his jacket on the coatrack as he declared, “Well, Odile, I’ll be off in—”

“No.” Odile stopped his hand. “Please, stay. Just for tonight?” He put the jacket pack on its peg. “If I’m taking a few days off then you can take the night off, at least.” He turned around and she slightly surprised him with a gentle embrace, nuzzling her head against his chest. “You work so hard… You deserve a night off…”

Alastor was a tad flustered as he found himself blushing again, however he realized that whenever that happened around her something most pleasurable came of it. So he relented and locked the door behind him.

He broke out some champagne that he had been saving since before the last extermination. He and Odile had much to celebrate this evening.

After getting out two champagne flutes his ear tufts perked up with a thought. “Oh, wait! Hold these…” He let Odile hold the glasses and finished unwrapping the foil. “Watch this…!”

He spun around, aimed at the furthermost mounted elk head and fired, the cork successfully hitting the trophy between the eyes before bouncing off in an arc. They both laughed, but their momentary distraction left the champagne to bubble over and Odile squealed with laughter as it spilled on Alastor’s shoes.

After a few drinks the two found themselves lounging on the couch together, with Odile lying back and resting her head on Alastor’s thigh, the both of them a wee bit tipsy. Just being in each others company made them so happy.

Her head in a slight fog, her mind drifted back to when he first invited her here. “Honestly, I was kinda relieved that one time when you said you didn’t like sex,” said Odile as she nonchalantly reached up to try to scratch his ear tufts like she would a cat.

“Oh, really…?” Alastor inquired as he took her wrist, meaning that he did not want to be touched there.

“I always thought there might’ve been something physically wrong with me,” Odile went on, “because this thing that _everyone_ says is so damn great was just tedious and awkward, at best.”

“Well, it could also be your beau was just a really terrible lover,” Alastor chuckled.

“Yeah, that too. But still. I only did it with him because I always conflated it with emotional intimacy just like everybody else did. That, like, it’s something folks _expect_ you to do in a relationship.”

Alastor lightly stroked her hair. “Then do explain. If it’s such a chore to you, then why were you so keen on doing the… act with me that one time…?”

Odile blushed. “Well, because I actually _wanted_ to. I dunno… Maybe I wanted to find out if you were any better at it than he was…”

Alastor nervously chuckled. “Probably not.”

“Oh, you hush,” Odile playfully chided as she sat up and _booped!_ that adorable nose of his. “Maybe… I dunno. Maybe by the time I did it with him it was when I was starting to love him less. Like the more I got to know him I found him less attractive, you know? Or maybe it was because certain… _methods_ are just generally more enjoyable than others, but he didn’t like those. Apparently he conflated straight-up intercourse with complete intimacy, but also I bet it was an ego thing. Like he didn’t want to please me for the sake of just pleasing me, you know?”

Alastor grimaced in disgust. He may have been evil but even _he_ found that pathetic and selfish.

“But, yeah, my point is I wanted to sleep with you because I liked you enough that I wanted to give it a shot. I mean, you _did_ do a better job getting me in the mood than my ex ever did. You’re such a charmer…” she stated as she put her palm on his cheek.

And Alastor in kind took her hand and affectionately nuzzled it.

Soon enough he leaned forward and softly kissed her lips, pausing only to remove his monocle and set it aside on the coffee table.

Odile draped her arm around his neck and rested her head against his chest, just wanting to listen to his heartbeat for a few moments as he cradled her.

“Mmm…” After an undetermined amount of time Odile started to feel the effects of the alcohol wearing off. She playfully undid Alastor’s tie and stated, “I keep forgetting to ask… What did you have in mind for getting back at Vera the Volatile?”

“Well, I— Oh…!” Before she could let him finish she went in and lightly kissed him where his jaw met his neck.

He loosened his embrace on her, wanting to just let it happen. She undid the top four buttons of his shirt and softly trailed her fingers along his shoulders, collarbone and chest underneath. Alastor only intervened to prevent her hands from wandering to certain places he didn’t want to be touched, to which she complied.

“What I had in mind was…”

He couldn’t finish the thought as Odile mounted his lap, her hands clasping at his shoulders.

But then Odile paused. “Wait, are you okay with this…?”

“Yes, of course I am,” Alastor lightly panted. He was at her mercy and he liked it that way.

She nibbled harder at the nape of his neck and he only pulled her in closer as he moaned, goading her on.

It was so hard for him to regain his train of thought in this state. “Are you… familiar with… _The Rite of Spring_?”

Odile paused and pulled back. “Yeah, I know of it. Haven’t been able to perform it because it’s been—”

“Lost to time,” Alastor continued as he coyly slipped off her shoulder straps with his finger. He massaged her pale shoulders as he added, “But you know of its infamy, correct?”

“Of course.” 

Alastor leaned in and she gasped as he started kissing her own neck. She held on tight, stunned in the best way possible, and ran her fingers through his soft hair.

“It was performed once or twice because…” Odile further explained through her blurred state of ecstasy. “… because the audience rioted.”

Alastor paused. “Well, then…” He shifted in his seat a little to get more comfortable. “What I had in mind was I book you as her opening act, you channel that Siren Song into a performance that includes ‘The Sacrifice’ dance, and it sends Vera’s audience into a frenzy that they not only riot amongst themselves but also destroy the venue and her along with it…” Alastor proposed as his grin curled into a more sinister one.

“Hmm…” Odile nonchalantly ran her finger across a pale diagonal scar across Alastor’s breast as she answered, “I like that idea, but…”

She gasped as Alastor leaned in again, this time “devouring” her shoulder.

As she slowly leaned back in a state of euphoria she continued, “… I feel like that’s not enough…” In between pants she managed to continue, “After what… she did to me… I wanna get her where it really hurts… Her ego!” Odile cried out as she clenched her fingers and accidentally tugged Alastor’s hair a bit too hard.

“Ow!” Alastor pulled back and rubbed at his scalp where she pulled.

“I’m sorry!”

But when Alastor looked back up at her, his eyes were glowing and his lip curled with a sort of fearsome eagerness. He unbuttoned the rest of his shirt and demanded in a low voice, “Odile, I want you to hurt me.”

“What?”

“You heard me correctly, my queen. I want you to take everything that you’ve been done wrong and take it out on me.” Odile hadn’t noticed before, but his black antlers had grown larger in size and branched out like sinister trees.

Odile was a little afraid. She didn’t want to go too far, even if it was by accident. However if this was what he really wanted…

“Okay…”

She lightly shook her head to get herself in the right mindset and took a deep breath as she gently placed her hands on his breast as though she was about to begin a concert on the piano. She gave him one last glance, as if confirming that this was what he wanted, and he lightly nodded.

She quickly dug her nails into his skin, making him cry out as she scratched him down the front of his lean torso.

Almost on a sort of demonic instinct Odile leaned forward and lapped up a trickle of blood as Alastor caught his breath.

Odile dug her claws into Alastor’s back and he whimpered in anticipation.

“Scream for me, my fool…!” she whispered into his ear.

Alastor drew in a sharp breath and his lip curled. “More…!”

She tore through his shirt and scratched his back hard enough to draw blood and Alastor cried out in delight.

Odile was glad to know there was an itch that she could scratch for him, so to speak. And with each pleasured scream he let out, she too was most satisfied.


	14. You And Me

As the evening simmered down the couple had moved over to Alastor’s bedroom where he lied across Odile’s lap as she cleaned the scratches on his back.

“Sorry I ruined your shirt,” Odile apologized, slightly embarrassed that she got carried away like that. "Probably should’ve removed it first…”

“Not to worry. I have plenty more where that came from,” Alastor reassured.

“Hope this doesn’t leave too much scarring…” Odile mumbled to herself as she continued cleaning his wounds with the wet cloth.

Alastor chuckled. “Once again, there’s more where that came from! I’m sure next time you’ll be able to play tic-tac-toe on my back!” he joked.

Odile let out a small laugh. She hadn’t seen all these previous scars before and she wasn’t sure whether she should be concerned about them or not. However judging by how faded they were they must have been very old.

But still she felt compelled to ask. “You’re not… into self-harm, are you?”

“What?” Alastor sounded baffled at such a notion. “Of course not. At least, not in the way _you_ know it.”

Odile set aside the cloth and switched to the rubbing alcohol and cotton gauze. “Meaning…?”

Alastor clasped at the edge of his mattress and drew in a sharp breath as the alcohol stung at his newest cuts. “I may have dabbled in some blood magic…”

“Oh.” Odile wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that, as she couldn’t tell if that was better or worse.

Once that process was done, he sat on the edge of the bed and lifted his arms as she coiled the bandages around his torso.

“I must be honest,” he confessed. “I’m… not accustomed to having someone else assist me with this.”

“Oh… I see…” Odile blushed, assuming this was usually his means of self-pleasure.

He got up and left his tattered remains of a shirt on the floor as he made his way to his mirror. May followed as he retrieved a clean night shirt.

“I’m glad I was able to make you feel good tonight…” she stated as she rested her head against him with an affectionate gaze through their reflection.

Alastor was taken aback. “Oh… Odile, you need not worry about that…”

“It’s okay. It means a lot to me that I can make you happy.” She gave his shoulder a light kiss and returned to the living area to clean up what they had left of their drinks.

“Oh. Is that so…?” Alastor’s eyes lit up in curiosity. He had been experiencing a whole plethora of new emotions since he started working with her, and this was another.

He heard the chimes of the champagne flutes outside the bedroom as he buttoned his shirt, still trying to find the word that described how he was feeling. What was it…?

Grateful. That’s what he felt. He wasn’t sure what he thought of it, but it felt… nice.

He followed her out into the kitchen where she had finished rinsing off the champagne flutes in the sink, and as she dried off her hands he gave her a soft, strong hug from behind. They may have cuddled on occasion, but this was him wanting to say something without words.

He nuzzled her hair, and Odile responded by giving his hand a squeeze, knowing full well what he was trying to tell her. She was glad to have him around, too.


	15. Snuff Out The Light

The following morning Alastor awoke early to prepare coffee when he noticed an envelope had been tucked underneath his door. He rarely received mail, and especially not in this manner since he had a mailbox down in the lobby. However he recognized the violet seal right away as the eye of a peacock feather and he grimaced at the sight of Vera the Volatile’s signature. It was an invitation to tea at her estate, and that very afternoon, no less.

Alastor’s ear tufts folded back. Of course she would be so gauche as to invite him at such short notice. As much as he loathed being in the presence of that wretched harpy once again, he suspected that the Swan Queen’s success was no doubt getting to her and wanted to have a talk with him. 

He smirked. He wasn’t about to pass up the chance to gloat about Odile’s success to her face.

Vera the Volatile was considered one of the lower-tier overlords of Hell, mostly content to the life of a star, only seeking power as a means for it to stay that way.

After her husband Daniel had been sent to Hell, it didn’t take long for the idiot to get mixed up with the mob and end up as another one of their pathetic little lapdogs. Fortunately for him, when he was on the docket for execution due to his gross incompetence, Vera was able to make a few shrewd business deals with his bosses and get his sorry ass out of trouble. With that Vera was able to procure a small seat of power in Hell that was most useful to her in her return to stardom.

As such, she made a home for herself in this large estate that resembled a Southern mansion.

Upon his arrival, Alastor recalled that there was a time that this structure seemed so inviting, when he was one of her many, many guests to her lovely annual garden party. Back then it seemed promising as he had hoped to form some kind of alliance with Vera. However the sight of this seemingly beautiful structure left a bitter taste in his mouth as he recalled it didn’t take long for Vera to destroy their chances of an alliance that very same night.

He stood outside the metal gates expecting someone to let him in, but then he heard a woman’s voice beckon, “The gate’s open, darling! Come on in!”

Alastor let himself in, but inside the outer wall he noticed a black-suited guard keeping watch, lest Alastor be led to believe there was lax security at the estate.

Sitting at a glass table in her best Sunday dress and hat was Vera. Tea, sandwiches and scones were laid out in front of her and her jacket was hanging from the back of her chair.

Alastor sat down in front of her and noticed the broad-shouldered falcon demon in a crisp, clean suit that stood beside Vera like a statue.

He raised an eyebrow in mild annoyance. “I was hoping we could discuss matters privately…” he said.

“Oh, don’t mind Edwina the Eagle-Eyed,” Vera replied. “She’s just my right-hand eagle. I just can’t get through the day without her.”

“I’m a falcon, ma’am,” Edwina flatly corrected.

“Yes, yes. Anyway, it’s so good to see you again, Alastor dear!” Vera greeted as she held out her hand in a way like she expected him to kiss it.

Alastor grimaced as Edwina served him tea from a very ornate teapot. “I wish I shared the sentiments, Vera.”

Vera pulled back her hand and took the rejection in a playful way. “Oh, come now, Alastor. You can’t still be mad about what happened then.”

“How could I forget?” Alastor retorted. “I’d demand an apology but I wouldn’t want to repeat the words you used to describe me in front of Edwina here.”

Edwina’s brow furrowed. “Wait, what did you call him, ma’am?”

“Oh, that’s ancient history,” Vera cheerfully waved off. “Can’t we just let bygones be bygones?”

“Evidently not.” Alastor sniffed at his tea before taking the first sip, as if to make sure it wasn’t poisoned. “As you are apparently a repeat-offender for such slander…”

Vera chortled. “‘Repeat-offender?’ That’s rich coming from the famed serial killer.”

“So _now_ you find that repugnant? Last time that was what you found so enticing about me…”

“Yes, well, only because my dear Daniel couldn’t pull off a hit to save his life. I wanted to show him what a _real_ overlord looks like. You understand.”

“Hmm…” It seemed he was never going to get that apology, so Alastor chose to change the subject. “Speaking of which, how is the mister?”

“Oh, sadly, my sweet little Daniel perished in last year’s extermination. How was I supposed to know he was still outside when I locked the door…?”

“Hmm…”

“Why? Did you know him?”

“No. No, I didn’t.” On one hand he was glad to hear the cad who betrayed Odile so long ago got what he deserved. Alastor had just hoped that _he’d_ be the one to carry it out. He helped himself to some cream as he asked, “Now, why is it that you invited me here?”

“I don’t know.” Vera gave him a flirtatious grin and added, “Why do _you_ think I invited you here?”

Alastor grimaced again in disgust. “No.”

“Pardon?”

“I had no interest last time and I have no interest now.”

“Oh, please! You are so full of yourself. You really think I still wanna screw a weirdo like you? I’ve got more important things to deal with. That sweet little ingenue of yours, for instance.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Alastor lied with a smug look on his face.

“Oh, come now! The one they’re calling ‘the Swan Queen’. There’s no way that a little unknown like her became so popular without the help of an overlord. And since her television and social media presence is considerably limited, it couldn’t be Vox or Velvet helping her. It could only be you. So, what, you’ve gone from radio host to impresario now? Is she your little muse? Are you her Sergei Diaglev to her Vaslav Nijinsky?”

“What does it matter to you?” Alastor gave her the side-eye, hoping she wouldn’t see he was blushing as she was kind of correct on that note.

Vera grinned. “So you admit it.” She leaned in, eager for him to dish. “Let me guess: Are you two in a sexless relationship? Oh, that is all too precious. Who knew Hell’s own little Radio Demon was, in fact, so chaste and innocent…”

Alastor twitched. He hated it when people conflated sexual disinterest with “innocence”.

“No, I suppose not,” Vera continued. “I’ve seen her act. She’s way too spicy for the likes of you.”

“You know nothing about her!” Alastor growled.

“Ooh! Did I touch a nerve, Al? That’s so cute!”

Alastor tried to calm himself, but his eye was still twitching. “Look, just cut to the chase, Vera! Why have you invited me here?”

Vera proudly smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress. She felt she had him right where she wanted. “I wanted to offer the opportunity to have your little Swan Queen as my opening act. Seems fitting that two divas with the Siren Voice should appear in the same show, don’t you think? Better yet, I would love for her to have a duet with me. Just imagine the crowd the two of us could draw.”

“Want to eliminate the competition, eh?” Alastor questioned knowingly.

Vera gave a coy shrug. “More or less. The art world is far too competitive. We should be working together as a unit. Don’t you agree with me, Al?”

_Not if your coworker is a back-biting snake,_ thought Alastor. “Yes, as lovely as that sounds I’m going to have to decline.”

Vera’s friendly facade seemed to crack. “Wait, what?”

Alastor took a scone and added, “You heard me correctly. The Swan Queen would not care for such a business venture.”

“And how can you be so sure? Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

“I don’t need to. I know her quite well and she would not care for that. She doesn’t like casual slander.”

Now it was Vera’s turn for her eye to twitch. “Is that so…?” She took a deep breath and turned to the side _,_ giving opportunity to show off her long, lean legs. “No matter. I know your game. One word from me about your little ingenue’s Siren Voice and her career crumbles.”

“As will yours with one word from me…” Alastor threatened. “Not only that, I still have your original demo tape…”

Vera’s eyes widened in alarm.

“And I have the means to broadcast it,” Alastor added.

Edwina stepped forward. “You want me to shut him up, ma’am?”

Alastor raised his free hand, ready to snap his fingers and call in his unspeakably horrifying backup in at any second.

“No, no, Edwina,” Vera ordered. “That will not be necessary. We were just finishing up…”

“Indeed,” Alastor agreed. He stood up and said, “Thank you for the tea, Vera. I’ll show myself out.”

Vera gave a courtesy giggle as Alastor walked back out the front gate, her eyes narrowing as soon as he was out of sight.

Edwina leaned down towards Vera’s ear. “You sure you don’t want me to put a hit on him?”

“Oh, that will be fine, Edwina. It doesn’t matter.” Vera retrieved her phone from her jacket pocket. “I know his game…” Vera pulled up an article she saved from before. It was an interview with the Swan Queen, one where she was highly encouraging her fans to support this fledgling band called the MurderPonies…


End file.
